


Coalesce

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: A world where there are three recognized genders - male, female, and males with female genitalia, colloquially called 'Boys'. </p><p>Kurt is a Boy who has been raised to blend in as a true male to avoid discrimination and regulation. By law, Boys must be bonded to a male or female due to their alleged lack of sexual control. The bond is chemically natural and extremely difficult to reverse. Boys are highly valued, extremely expensive, and sold young by their families. For more information on this world, please see the chapter 'AU Study'. </p><p>Sebastian Smythe discovers the truth about Kurt one night at a party, violating Kurt while Kurt is passed out. To preserve his sexual identity, Kurt makes a deal with Sebastian: one more violation in return for Sebastian's silence. </p><p>The deal backfires when both Kurt and Sebastian are overtaken by their physical reactions to each other and Kurt loses his virginity. By law, Sebastian is now entitled to Kurt's bond. </p><p>This is the story of what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Originally posted to the Glee Kink Meme [here](http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/29310.html?thread=37075582#t37075582). 

Based on the aftermath of this prompt:

_Kurt gets drunk at a party that Sebastian happens to be at. He offers to take Kurt into another room at the house the party is being held at and lays him down, before taking off Kurt's pants and underwear to see if the rumors are true - if Kurt really has a boypussy.  
  
The rumors /are/ true, and Kurt is completely passed out drunk, his pussy fully on display. It's completely shaved and perfect, and Sebastian can't help himself. He licks Kurt for a long time, teasing him, making Kurt come in his sleep. And even after he keeps licking until someone knocks on the door, which startles Sebastian and pulls him out of his depravity.   
  
He's redressing Kurt but just can't seem to bring himself to pull away, licking Kurt a little bit more, suckling so gently on his clit. Kurt's eyes open and he becomes a little more conscious of everything around him and sees Sebastian gently suckling on his clit. It feels nice, so he spreads his legs and lets it continue as he passes back out.   
  
Sebastian redresses Kurt and leaves. The next morning, Kurt wakes up and remembers that tiny moment of Sebastian licking him out and panics. He agrees to meet with Sebastian later that week to make sure he hasn't told anyone that the rumors are true. Sebastian gets pushy and tells Kurt that his silence comes at a price.   
  
However you want to end is up to filler. Please no cock or balls, just boypussy. I really want Sebastian suckling on sleeping Kurt's clit *_*_

_  
_

_***_

“That was quick.”

Sebastian just leans against the door frame, lets Kurt stand on his porch red-cheeked and stiff-necked. Furiousness on Kurt apparently manifests as prim lips and hands in fists around the strap of his shoulder bag. It’s cute, like watching a toddler ready itself for a tantrum.

“Yes, well, I’ve never been blackmailed before. Pardon me for breaking etiquette, you prick,” Kurt snaps and pushes past Sebastian anyways.

“Harsh. Don’t get your  _pussy_ in a twist, sweetheart,” Sebastian replies, and Kurt whips around, eyes wide, mouth open.

“You son of a bitch, forget it, I should have known you’d never-”

Sebastian closes the front door before Kurt can march back out again.

“Whoops, I meant  _panties_ ,” he amends lamely. Kurt narrows his eyes. Sebastian smiles. He knows where he stands. Kurt may talk big like he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Like he’s proud to be a walking couture disaster. But if the boys at that distasteful public school of his knew what he was really packing, he wouldn’t make it through the rest of his senior year alive. Or at least not without a booby-trapped titanium chastity belt.

“You are a real piece of work, Sebastian Smythe. You give a bad name to the entire gay community.” Kurt somehow manages to look both down his nose and up at Sebastian at the same time.

“And  _you_  are soaking a puddle in those skinny jeans, aren’t you?” Sebastian asks as salaciously as he can manage.

“Sebastian!” Kurt hisses, and he looks around the foyer like maybe Sebastian’s parents are lurking behind a potted fern.

And yep, Sebastian’s screwed himself by putting the image into his own head. Fuck, Kurt standing there all scared and angry, eyes bright, and down there, tucked into the V of his ridiculous jeans, is his pink little cunt. Sebastian knows. Maybe better than anyone. He got to touch it, lick it, stick the tip of his tongue right up the spongy little cavern at the base of it. Fuck. Sebastian’s mouth actually begins to water.

“Relax, we’re alone,” he says, and grabs Kurt by the strap of his bag, hauling him up the stairs.

He pushes Kurt to his bed, ignores the way Kurt is eyeing up the Smythe’s tastefully wealthy decor. It’s time to collect.

“Alright, pants off.”

Kurt’s sitting where he landed awkwardly, still blushing. He looks away when Sebastian takes off his shirt. It’s going to get pretty hot pretty quick.

“Yeah, okay, jeez,” he mutters, and takes off his bag, takes off his blazer, then stops.

“What, are they literally painted on? Do you need some paint thinner?”

“No, you ass. I just, I-” Kurt takes a breath and fixes Sebastian with a bitchy glare that goes straight to Sebastian’s dick. He wants to see that glare from between Kurt’s legs. Sebastian wonders if Kurt’s cunt clenches the same way his lips do when he’s upset. “I just want to lay down the ground rules again.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes and drops his pants. Kurt’s eyes drop to the boner tenting his boxers.

“See! This is what I’m talking about! We never negotiated you getting naked!”

“I’m not getting naked, I’m getting comfortable. You’re acting like you’re not the one who is getting the better deal here.”

“The better deal?” Kurt’s voice could shatter glass. “First you practically date rape me and now you’re blackmailing me into letting you do it again. I am getting shit out of this  _deal_.”

“Let’s not forget that last time you got off like a housewife sitting on a washing machine. So, yeah, you’re getting the better deal.” Sebastian wasn’t about to reveal his hand, that nothing could be more rewarding than that moist hot mound under his mouth. But Kurt was no dummy; it was part of the appeal.

“Uh huh. That’s why you’re standing there with a hard-on the size of a baseball bat.”

“Aw, Kurt! Best compliment he’s ever received, and we get a lot of them.” Sebastian puts hands on his hips and turns a little, giving Kurt the full view. Looking down he can see his boner is straining against the slit of his boxer shorts, just a peak of the head of his dick parting the fabric. Sebastian uses one finger to pull the slit wider, and his cock tips out. He’s careful not to touch it, just the brush of his underwear is making him too horny to think straight.

Kurt gasps from the bed and blushes harder still.

“You keep that thing away from me,” he whispers, eyeing Sebastian’s cock like it’s a baseball bat with a nail in it too. Then he visibly steels himself and meets Sebastian’s eyes. “Like we discussed. You can touch it, and you can li-lick it. For ten minutes.”

“Until I get you off,” Sebastian argues. Fuck, Kurt hot and liquid and coming all over his chin again. Sebastian’s dick twitches.

“Like that’s going to happen. Ten minutes. Then you stay the hell away from me and you keep your mouth shut.” Kurt leans back and digs his phone out of his pocket. Then he actually sets the timer. Taking a deep breath, he waggles the phone at Sebastian, the numbers already reading 9 minutes 55 seconds. “Okay, go.”

“What! Jesus! That’s not fair!”

Kurt shrugs. “Nothing about this is fair, you ass.”

Sebastian grabs the phone from his imperious little hand and tosses it to the floor. Kurt yelps a “hey!” that is quickly cut off by Sebastian pushing him back on the bed and yanking his button fly open.

Kurt huffs and his hands move like they’re going to stop Sebastian from tugging his jeans down and peeling them off his legs, but then they fall to his side and he lets his head drop back like he’s checking right out.

Sebastian doesn’t dwell on Kurt’s tactic, because ugh, there it is. Tiny black briefs hug the smooth dip between Kurt’s pale thighs. Hug his  _cunt_. Sebastian pushes Kurt’s legs apart, and fuck, he was right, there’s a damp oval of darker fabric up the crotch of Kurt’s briefs.

He hooks a finger around the side of the damp patch and pulls the cotton over. “Oh fuck,” he whispers. Kurt is  _glistening_ , pink folds bulging out of the space Sebastian’s made, getting the tip of his finger all wet, and-

Kurt’s thighs snap shut on his hand.

“Kurt!” Sebastian growls, and kneels on the bed to look down at Kurt’s face where it’s all scrunched up, eyes closed. He puts both hands on Kurt’s naked knee caps, adding a little pressure, but his legs stay closed.

“I don’t, I can’t..”

“You  _will_. I’m keeping my end of the bargain, so you better pay up yours.”

“Fuck you, Sebastian,” Kurt opens his eyes and there are tears there. It’s a heady mix, Kurt’s teary eyes sending such a hateful glare. “You’re unbelievable. I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Believe it. And believe you’re adding an extra minute for this bullshit.” Sebastian tugs at Kurt’s knees again, trying to slip his fingers down between Kurt’s calves. “Now open up.”

Kurt does that thing again where he straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin, like he’s channeling Lucille Bluth or something. His legs fall open like a clam shell.

“Fine,” he spits, and to Sebastian’s dismay, thumbs off his own underwear. He makes up for it by cupping each calf in his hand and pulling his legs up and out.

“Jesuussss,” Sebastian groans, and he dives in. Kurt is so fucking gorgeous, all boy in his trim waist and muscled thighs, but there, inbetween them, he’s peachy and bare and his pussy lips wink open as he pulls his legs farther apart. Down the slit of his cunt he’s dark pink and wet and a little complicated, so Sebastian flattens his tongue and licks Kurt’s cunt from asshole to the top of his slit, tonguing at the deepest part of it.

Kurt practically shouts and his pelvis rolls, so Sebastian holds him still with both hands, using his thumbs to pull Kurt’s pussy wider, reveal the wet little gape at the bottom of it. Kurt tastes divine, all salt and dirty tang and Sebastian slurps it up like cum.

Sebastian can hear Kurt muttering breathlessly above him, but he can’t take a single insult Kurt whimpers seriously, not when Kurt is bucking and twitching under his hands, his cunt getting sloppier with every poke and swipe and suck Sebastian gives him.

“God, who would guess you’re such a slut for it,” Sebastian breaths against the wetness, giving his tongue a break, letting his nose bump against what must be Kurt’s clit, a hard little nub that makes Kurt suck air and make unladylike  _uh, uh, uh, uh,_  noises. Sebastian keeps at it, keeps licking and flicking and laving and nipping and eating up Kurt’s grunts along with his juices until he hears a chime coming from beside the bed. The alarm.

He pokes his head up and uses one hand to try and wipe away the pussy juice from his mouth and chin, but god, there is so much of it.

“Time. You want me to stop?”

Kurt looks absolutely destroyed. The tears have spilled down his cheeks, his hair is a disaster from tossing his head around, and he’s bright red from the neck up. He snarls at Sebastian.

“You have an extra minute, get it done.”

With that he lets go of one leg, braces his foot on Sebastian’s shoulder, and grabs Sebastian by the hair, rubbing his face back down into the mess of Kurt’s cunt. Sebastian doesn’t waste any time.

Even though he knows it’ll get him into trouble, he decides to push his luck and lets his thumb slip into the hole of Kurt’s pussy, just one knuckle deep, distracting Kurt by sucking hard and fast on his clit. He knows he’s playing with fire, that the most valuable thing a boy with a pussy has is a virgin hole, but Sebastian is a risk taker.

If Kurt’s wail is any indication, Kurt is getting off on it too, his hips bucking like he’s trying to shove Sebastian’s thumb in even farther. Then the hand gripping Sebastian’s hair lets go and Kurt is slapping at his face, getting it out of the way so he can grab Sebastian’s wandering thumb.

“No! No no no. None of that,” Kurt gasps, but he’s practically hyperventilating, his hips still jerking up on the phantom feel of Sebastian’s thumb. Fuck, if that’s just from his thumb...

Sebastian shuffles forward quickly. He’s hard as a fucking tree trunk, he’s never been this hard before in his life, poking out of the hole in his boxer shorts, his balls heavier than he’s ever felt them.

He grabs his own cock with one hand and uses the other to grab both of Kurt’s wrists, pinning them up on Kurt’s sternum. Kurt starts to panic, his legs straining to close, but Sebastian maneuvers until his own knees are holding Kurt’s thighs wide and flat to the bed.

“Sebastian, this wasn’t part of the deal! Stop!” Kurt begs, gasping like a sprinter. His pussy is so wet and gorgeous, it’s actually dripping,  _dripping_  down his perineum, making a big wet spot under Kurt’s ass.  
  
“Shhhh, shhhh, I’m not going to, I just want to touch it,” Sebastian tries to explain. He abandons that futile effort and just goes for it, dips the tip of his cock just into the entrance of Kurt’s hole.  
  
“Fuuck,” they both groan at the same time, and Sebastian snorts a short laugh, too preoccupied with the sight of his dick gently rubbing around the the opening where Kurt’s cunt leads inside his body. Ugh, Sebastian has never wanted to shove his dick into another person so badly before. It’s torturous and he makes it up to his cock by swiping it through the juices there, painting up the head and parting Kurt’s pussy lips with little wet smacking sounds. Rubbing up and through and around, his own slit mouthing and pumping out precum to mix with Kurt’s until he slides back down to Kurt’s entrance.  
  
He can fit just the first quarter inch of his cock head in there before the skin around it gets taunt and if he goes any further, Kurt will have to give and stretch and swallow him up and-  
  
“Sebastian!” Kurt’s shout shakes him from the hypnotizing sight of Kurt’s dark pink hole sucking at the end of his dick, starting to strain around it.  
  
Kurt looks terrified. “You break it, you buy it!” he cries, and Sebastian starts to come at the very thought, of knowing that he could own this boy for the rest of their lives with just one thrust of his hips. His hand moves on autopilot, milking out his orgasm with more cum than he’s ever shot before, roping all over Kurt’s swollen pussy; his wet lips, his clit, even his tidy little gape of a hole, some of Sebastian’s cum leaking into it and down and out of sight. He almost goes blind and deaf he’s coming so hard and so completely, like all of his senses have diverted energy down to the sense of touch in his cock. He comes for what feels like forever, pushing his cock down into Kurt’s slit like a hotdog in a bun, rubbing hard and still spurting over Kurt’s lower stomach.  
  
Kurt must come then too because he’s bucking so violently that his wrists almost come out of Sebastian’s grip and he’s getting Sebastian’s dick even more wet, just a huge jizzy mess between them, slopping down onto Kurt’s thighs and soaking the front of Sebastian’s underwear.  
  
“Christ!” Sebastian gasps, like a swimmer coming up for air, and he lets go of Kurt because he’s tipping right over, half sprawled on Kurt’s leg, his face landing up near Kurt’s armpit, still in his button-up shirt. His nose pressed into the clean smell of his duvet makes the room’s comparative reek of jizz and Kurt even stronger. Kurt’s chest beside his face is rising and falling in time with Kurt’s panting.  
  
“That was close,” Kurt remarks haltingly.  
  
“Yeah,” Sebastian agrees.  
  
“Really, really close.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll make it to penetration without coming next time,” Sebastian promises.  
  
Kurt laughs, and it’s a good sound.  
  
“There will never be a next time.”  
  
“Just like this was only supposed to be ten minutes?”  
  
“Fuck you, Sebastian.”  
  
And they probably fucked for real later that day and Burt probably grazed Sebastian’s arm running him down with a shotgun that night.


	2. Chapter 2

In hindsight, Sebastian is shocked at how much the call panics him.

All pre-med students are required to take a series of psychoanalysis tests in first year and unsurprisingly, Sebastian had scored a record low in empathy.

“Interesting. An empathetic response 28 per cent lower than the average male; that takes skill, Mr. Smythe,” his undergrad advisor had chuckled. “Not to worry, it’ll give you a distinct advantage during your residency, so long as you can fake a little warmth when it comes to disclosing diagnosis.”

“My bonded is a bleeding heart, I’ll ask for tips,” Sebastian had smirked. As if; he was burning the score card to avoid any chance of giving Kurt ammunition.

Sebastian keeps his phone turned off during his organic chem lab. The last kid who’s ringtone blasted Rhianna in the middle of the bromination of stilbene demo had been asked to leave and take a zero on the assignment. So when Sebastian finally checks his voicemail on the way to his genomics lecture, he’s five long and crowded blocks from Washington Square station and just takes a cab to NYADA instead of the train.

He listens carefully to the voicemail again in the cab, grinding his teeth at the vagueness of it.

“Hello Mr. Smythe, this is Connie from the Grand Street Clinic. We have a student here, Kurt Hummel, who we can’t release without an escort and you are listed as his primary contact...”

Connie drones on with directions for reaching the clinic from the NYADA showcase auditorium and of course says not a word about Kurt’s health, well-being, or his level of ire. Sebastian would like to imagine the best possibility-

”Mr. Hummel has a lightly sprained ankle, is unreasonably upset that they’re letting his understudy perform tomorrow, and is Level 9 Bitchy, so please bring cheesecake ice cream and extra for the nursing staff he’s terrorized.”

-but in the back of his mind he’s imagining all the worst things and he hates it, he hates the panic that makes him want to kick the seat to make the cabbie drive even more recklessly. That makes him want to strangle Connie’s presumably 18 cats for being so nonchalant and unhelpful in the message. That makes him want to jump out and run the rest of the way to NYADA so he can bitch out the morons who can’t clear the stage or control divas from flailing fits or keep lights from crashing down on his - on Kurt.

Sebastian’s mind also supplies the unwanted revelation that he’d be as equally upset if he’d received the same message about his parents or his brother. People he actually loves. Urgh, crap, his chest feels even more like a gaping chasm when he thinks of Kurt being hurt and abandoned in a clinic and waiting for him, and-

The cab gets stuck in the usual traffic around Broadway, so Sebastian pays the man and books it the rest of the way to Grand street, his satchel thumping heavy against the back of his thighs. When he finally makes it to the clinic reception, Connie is everything he imagined and loathes, and tells him to take a seat and wait for the doctor when he demands to know Kurt’s injuries.

Sebastian waits in the stuffy little waiting room that reeks of floor cleaner for the five minutes it takes for Connie to waddle off for a mug of tea before slipping past the reception desk and trying exam rooms until he finds Kurt.

Kurt is sitting on a chair beside the exam table, bent over his knees, head in hands. He looks up as Sebastian comes in and Sebastian swears. Kurt looks like a child with a fever; color burning high in his cheeks, eyes glassy, hair wet with sweat at his temples and along his brow. He’s rocking in his seat, his feet, still in split soles from rehearsal, fidgeting and rubbing against each other.

“Jesus Kurt, what happened,” Sebastian asks, coming closer.

“No, no. I told them not to call you,” Kurt whines, hands fisting at his mouth. “No, no,” he keeps muttering, and starts when Sebastian puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sick? I told you to stop buying maki rolls from that street vendor.”

“I’m fine,” Kurt lies, eyes huge and blue above his scarlet cheeks. “I told them I’m fine. I can handle this, I just need a few minutes to com-compose myself,” he babbles. “So, get back to class, thanks and sorry you came down.”

Sebastian barks a humorless laugh and squats down in front of Kurt. This is ridiculous, he’s seen Kurt ugly crying, he’s seen Kurt breathless with orgasm, and he’s seen Kurt trembling with rage, but he’s never seen him look like a Typhoid victim on his deathbed.

“Are you kidding me? You look like crap, you just apologized to me and thanked me maybe for the first time ever, and you’re about to fall right out of that chair. Now what the hell is going on?” Sebastian demands, letting the panic he’s been holding reign on escape into anger.

Kurt groans brokenly, his hands going from his face to flutter around Sebastian’s shoulders, then back to lock on his own thighs.

“Please Sebastian, I am asking you to go back to school. Or at least get me out of here without the interrogation. One semester of pre-med does not a doctor make, no matter how many weird diseases you memorize,” he snarks breathlessly.

Sweat is starting to stain the collar of his off-the-shoulder Flashdance sweatshirt and Kurt doesn’t even seem to notice. Sebastian rummages in his satchel for his water bottle and Kurt takes it, careful not to brush Sebastian’s hand, but forgoing the predictable nose-wrinkle and cootie comments he normally would have given. He drains the whole thing, even letting water trickle out of the corner of his mouth in his haste.

“Fine, I’ll wait for the fully-qualified doctor to tell me what has you looking like you just ran a marathon-”

“No! No, I take it back, I’m glad you’re here, please let’s just go.”

“Kurt. Jesus. You are not well. Tell me what’s wrong before I call a priest to exorcise you.”

From the next room over they can hear the sound of the door opening and the rumble of voices. Kurt blows a sigh and holds the metal of Sebastian’s water bottle to the side of his face as though to cool it.

“Fine. It’s the same goddamn thing that happens every month, but this month I’m just a little more...hormonal...than usual.”

Sebastian blinks, leaning back on his haunches. Kurt in heat usually means they do it four times a day instead of two, Kurt gets a little slinkier, a lot more aggressive, and likes to sleep with his nose buried next to Sebastian’s armpit.

Kurt’s eyes on him are like lasers as he watches Sebastian do the math on what this means. Sebastian looks closer himself and sees it now. Out of the context of all horizontal (and some vertical) surfaces in their apartment, Sebastian missed that Kurt’s hectic, sweaty appearance matches what he looks like after a thorough fucking.

“Okay,” he says, lowering his voice out of anger range. “That makes a little more sense. Fuck, you’re so hot for it you needed to be hospitalized. That is...inspiring,” Sebastian purrs, ignoring the rush of relief that accompanies the rush of arousal. Kurt’s going to be fine, Sebastian doesn’t need an M.D. to fix this problem.

“No,” Kurt snaps, bouncing his legs to throw off Sebastian’s hands gliding up to his waistband.

“What?” Sebastian is confused. Kurt is horny as hell, Sebastian is quickly getting there, business as usual, except on an excitingly larger scale.

“I said no. I don’t want to have sex. I want to be left alone until this blows over, which is what I’ve been trying to tell everyone and their dog. It’s my body, I refuse to let my stupid crotch rule my life.”

Kurt is getting higher and higher pitched so Sebastian doesn’t take the opportunity to point out that it’s not Kurt’s body, it’s Sebastian’s. He’s even got a state-commissioned piece of paper that says so. Burt Hummel’s furious signature had ripped the page a little bit. Maybe it’s because they were so young, or maybe it’s because Sebastian’s not really a dick despite what his psych evaluations say, but he never uses the fact Kurt is bonded to him as leverage. He’ll only bring it up to piss Kurt off and since Sebastian’s in slapping range, he stays quiet.

“But Kurt, do I need to get a mirror? You’re a mess, let me help you out,” he tries, going for reason. Kurt can work on resisting two million years of evolution after Sebastian gives him what he needs.

“What happens the next time? When I’m in the middle of a performance? Or accepting a Tony? Or, god forbid, at your parent’s house? I read about it online. If I can learn to control it, this” - he gestures down his sweat-soaked shaking body - “won’t happen when my career and/or dignity are on the line.”

Kurt looks good when he gets angry. It’s not helping.

Sebastian stands up, tries covering his boner with his bag, discovers that the boner is too raging. He sighs, putting his bag back on his hip and holding out his hand.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s get you home then.”

Kurt eyes his hand, closing his mouth in a frown so that his heaving breaths whistle out his nose. “I better not.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes and opens the door. He leads Kurt back out through the clinic, ignoring Connie’s indignation and another nurse’s excuse me! and walks to the corner to hail a cab.

Kurt does pretty okay; his steps are a little more mincing than usual and he’s slouched over his crossed arms, but he makes it into the cab alright. Sebastian gets in too and leans forward, giving the cabbie their address through the hole in the plexiglass divider. When he sits back he almost knocks Kurt in the face.

“Are you sniffing me?”

“No,” Kurt lies.

Sebastian does the gentlemanly thing and scoots further toward the door.

They’ve only made it two blocks before Kurt has his thigh pressed up against Sebastian’s. Sebastian wonders if Kurt even knows he’s doing it. He has his eyes closed in concentration, and he’s still sweating and breathing hard, his legs tightly together. Sebastian leans a little closer.

“I’ll get you upstairs, but then I’m going back to school. Call me if you change your mind, okay?” he says quietly, watching Kurt’s lips twitch.

“I won’t,” Kurt replies, admirably steady. Now his shoulder is brushing Sebastian’s too.

“Are you wet? Is that what you’re hiding down there?” Sebastian nods down to Kurt’s lap, his own stiff hair brushing Kurt’s sweaty fly-aways.

“Of course I am, genius.”

“Let me see.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” he growls. Or tries to, it’s more of a whine.

“I’m not asking to fuck you in a moving taxi, I just want to see what all the fuss is about,” Sebastian argues. The cab rumbles across a patch of unfinished asphalt and Kurt gasps.

“Mmmm, did you like that?”

“No! Well, yes, but no. I’m trying to think unsexy thoughts here, you’re not helping.”

Sebastian chuckles, using the distraction to lay a careful hand beside Kurt’s lap. “Tell me.”

“Sue Sylvester giving birth. Blaine’s ‘fro. Rachel and Finn making love in the missionary position.”

“Ew.”

“I know, right.”

Sebastian sneaks his fingers into the v of Kurt’s legs, all damp scorching heat, ignoring Kurt’s yelp.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters into Kurt’s temple, and he can feel Kurt’s shudder from head to toe. Kurt grabs his hand, but he doesn’t move it.

“I’ll come,” he whines. Sebastian looks up, but the cabbie is busy honking and swearing and yakking into his radio.

“So? If you come now you and I both know you’ll still have all day and all night to fight this. If that’s what you really want,” Sebastian wheedles. What he really wants is to stick his dick into Kurt’s soaking, sucking pussy. But he also wants to help Kurt, to ease the torture he’s putting himself through. Sebastian would never admit it out loud, but there is a distinct correlation between Kurt’s well being and his own.

“I don’t want to...,” Kurt persists, but it’s sounding like a pretty lame tribute to his own stubbornness. So in one swift move Sebastian wraps his left arm around Kurt’s trembling shoulders and wriggles his right hand under the sweatshirt, finding the tie on Kurt’s snug little (and very distracting) rehearsal pants, loosening it and slipping the hand over Kurt’s flat abdomen.

Before Kurt can struggle away, Sebastian slips his middle finger down the crack of Kurt’s pussy. Kurt cuts off his own scream by biting Sebastian’s t-shirt along with a good hunk of his deltoid.

Kurt is so slippery and sopping that Sebastian hardly knows what he’s rubbing against. It’s all heat and slick and slimy deliciousness. He’s dying to push Kurt back and stick his face in it, but Kurt has a death grip on his forearm, holding it still while Kurt rubs and hitches up against his fingers.

“So wet, Jesus, I want to eat you out and then fuck you soaking wet all over again” Sebastian whispers right into his ear, and Kurt comes in record time, screams reverberating into Sebastian’s shoulder through the bite.

It’s another two blocks before Kurt eases out of his aftershocks, relaxing from the arch his orgasm had bowed him into and letting go of Sebastian’s forearm. Sebastian is in awe, he’s never seen Kurt come so hard and so long. He feels like he’s been presented with a challenge.

He eases his hand out of Kurt’s pants, his fingers nearly pruned. He wipes them on Kurt’s thigh.

“Ugh, Sebastian,” Kurt whines halfheartedly. But he’s slumping further under Sebastian’s arm, very nearly cuddling into his side. Another advantage of Kurt in heat that Sebastian would never confess to enjoying: snuggle-drunk Kurt.

Snuggly Kurt proves to be a liability when it comes to getting him to their fourth floor walk-up. Sebastian juggles his keys, his bag, and Kurt not so subtly rubbing against his hip from under Sebastian’s supporting arm.

When Sebastian does finally get Kurt through the door, he hustles him straight to the kitchen, leaning him against the counter and getting a few more glasses of water into him and some leftover peach cobbler from the fridge.

“Okay, keep drinking water. You’re going to hurt yourself in this state,” he admonishes, looking at his phone. He can still probably make it back in time for his sociology elective, but it’s poor competition for staying at home and continuing his quest to fuck Kurt back to his senses.

“Mmmm, whatever you say, Dr. Smythe,” Kurt giggles, half rolling his eyes in a poor approximation of the bitch face normal Kurt would make.

Kurt is a gorgeous mess, rumpled and slumped, color still high in his cheeks, cobbler crumbs down the front of his sweatshirt.

“Let me help you,” Sebastian tries again, sliding close, putting a hand on Kurt’s hip. Sebastian is hopeful when Kurt doesn’t answer right away. But his eyes slowly lose their snuggle-drunk softness and he licks his spoon clean before turning to put it in the sink.

“I...thanks. Sebastian. For being good about this. Or, as good as you can be,” he amends. His eyes are back to uncompromising Kurt Hummel steel blue. “But I need to deal with it. I need to know I can control this.”

Sebastian gets that. He and Kurt may be a classic case of opposites being stuck together forever, but they do share ruthless ambition, which goes hand-in-hand with control.

“Fine. Call me.” He picks up his bag and pockets his phone, heading for the door.

“Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” Kurt calls. Sebastian turns around so Kurt can see him sniffing his fingers as he lets himself out of their apartment.

“Not a chance,” he grins.

He’s halfway down the hall when Kurt pops out after him.

“Wait.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sebastian has Kurt pushed up against the back of the couch so fast Kurt almost tumbles over the top of it.

“Sebastian, fuck, please!”

“Not so reluctant now. Right to the begging, God you’ve got it bad,” Sebastian laughs, thrilled that Kurt has stopped being a self-abusing dumbass. He hitches Kurt’s sweats down and thumbs his bare ass cheeks apart to get a good look at Kurt’s cunt. It’s so swollen and wet that it looks painful and tender to the touch. Kurt groans into the couch cushion, his pussy lips quivering as his cunt contracts on air, his hands scrabbling at the back of his head.

Sebastian hurries to get his cock out of his jeans, using both hands to shuck open his belt and fly. Letting go of his ass makes Kurt rise up on his toes, presenting himself in little rocks.

“Hold yourself open,” Sebastian groans, and Kurt does, his fingers gorgeous on his own pale ass cheeks and thighs, spreading himself almost painfully wide, his pussy gaping, glistening pink.

One, two, three pumps on his cock and Sebastian is rock hard. He slides into Kurt snugly, burying himself about three-quarters the length of his cock before hitting soft resistance and a muffled sob from Kurt. That sometimes happens at this angle, so Sebastian hauls Kurt’s slim hips up, angling him so Sebastian can get his entire cock into Kurt’s gloriously wet heat, feel Kurt’s wetness dripping down onto his balls where they slap into Kurt’s fattened cunt.

Kurt squeals as Sebastian lifts him right off his feet, Kurt’s arms coming back down to support himself on the top of the couch, letting Sebastian maneuver his hips into each thrust. Kurt is so wet and ready for him it’s almost frictionless except for the way Kurt’s insides are choking around him manically, his whole torso rolling to meet Sebastian’s assault.

“Please, yes!” Kurt cries, and Sebastian couldn’t pump into him any harder or faster if he tried. It doesn’t take long for Kurt to become completely unintelligible, devolving into a series of animalistic grunts that Sebastian wants to hear better, so he scoops an arm under Kurt’s chest and hauls him up, Kurt’s head falling back over his shoulder. The change in the angle makes Kurt sob harder, his knees hitching up onto the back of the couch, spread wide and wanton for Sebastian’s cock coming up into him in deep slides.

“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” Sebastian huffs into Kurt’s ear. “I bet you want my dick stuffed up in your pussy all the time, don’t you?”

“Nooooo,” Kurt whines, and he tries to drop his head back down, but Sebastian tilts it back up, lets his fingers slip into Kurt’s mouth.

“Yeah it is. You were made for this. I should just chain you to the bed. You’d be so happy, taking my dick all day. Keep you spread and waiting and wide.” Kurt keens again and Sebastian stutters, his own imagination bringing him nearly to the edge. He thrusts in closer, relishing the round firmness of Kurt’s little ass against his stomach, the way that Kurt’s cunt still sucks tight yet sloppy-wet around his dick as he plunges up into it.

“Just chained and waiting for the next time you get to ride my dick, getting all wet and sticky, maybe I’ll even use your mouth while you’re helpless and dizzy with-” Sebastian cuts off because Kurt is coming violently against him, shoving himself down onto Sebastian’s cock, shaking and spasming around him, his screaming sob sounding a lot like Sebastian’s name.

“Jesus!” Sebastian cries, because he’s coming too, Kurt jerking around on his cock much too delicious to pound through. “Ugh, ugh, ugh,” he hears himself groan, and yeah, he’s imagining it too, slipping his dick between Kurt’s pink lips, holding his head while Kurt sucks mindlessly on his cock, hungry for it anywhere.

They don’t do that; the bond doesn’t actually make Kurt anymore interested in sucking dick than he would be without it. But if his reaction to Sebastian’s suggestion is anything to go by, it might be worth a shot.

Kurt is still coming long after Sebastian finishes shooting into him, white smears of come dripping back down out of him. Back bowed, fingers hurting Sebastian’s shoulders where they’re clutching, Kurt just keeps siezuring in his arms. Sebastian starts slipping out of him, so he reaches around and uses two fingers to stuff his softening penis back into Kurt, gathering up wetness and come to rub it around Kurt’s pussy while he comes down.

“Mmmmm,” Kurt moans into his neck, trying to ride his soft dick, chase his fingers. It won’t be long before he’s hard again.

Since Kurt is pretty much useless, Sebastian half-carries him to bed, dumping him in and stripping them both. He pulls the duvet up to Kurt’s shoulder and lies back, hands behind his head so Kurt can smell him if he wants to. He tries to make the gesture casual, but even limp and brain-blown, Kurt probably knows he’s trying to be nice.

But Kurt just looks at him from across the pillow, his sweat-stiff hair spiking up above his brow. He looks sad and tired and yeah, here comes the tears.

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

Sebastian scoops up a tear from the side of Kurt’s face. “Well your body is leaking fluid from your eyes, might want to get that checked out.”

Kurt weakly bats his hand away. “What...what happens the next time I go into heat so bad I can’t walk? I hate this. I hate being so powerless over my own reactions.”

“It’s easy. You come to me, I fuck you back into sanity, and life goes on.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing. I have to count on the guy who threatens to sell my bond when I buy the wrong brand of protein powder.”

Sebastian sits up. “You think I would actually sell your bond?” The sheer ridiculousness of it makes Sebastian want to laugh. There is no amount of money in the world that would entice him to give up Kurt. He won the lottery the day Kurt’s hormones overpowered his normally good sense and he let Sebastian fill him up, tiny little stretching increments that had made Kurt tear and bleed but also moan and clutch and yep, Sebastian is getting hard again thinking about the afternoon he took Kurt’s virginity in a rampaging fuck not unlike the one they’d just finished.

Sebastian tries to imagine it, tries to imagine his life without Kurt. It’s dreary and boring and yeah, a little scary. He would still be dicking around NYU if he didn’t have Kurt to challenge him, to tease his competitive spirit and make him commit to classes. Not to mention keeping his cock in check. His brief nightlife phase had lost its thrill the night he’d gotten his tongue in Kurt’s cunt, an inescapable addiction sprouting while Kurt had slept through his awed explorations.

Kurt is annoying and naggy and self-righteous and shrewd and sarcastic and hilarious and strangely, breathtakingly beautiful in certain lights. He dresses like a homeless person stumbled onto a fashion runway, doesn’t take shit from anyone, and sings like a flick to a crystal goblet.

There are a million guys like Sebastian, handsome and cocky and who look good shirtless, but there is no one else like Kurt. He makes being unique seem worth it, worth the stares and the dismissals and the fear. And he belongs to Sebastian.

Besides, who else would be thoughtful enough to make Sebastian flax waffles and then have the audacity to burn his True Religion jeans out on the balcony?

He doesn’t say any of this of course, that would be showing his hand, which Kurt would totally bust him on. Instead he lays back down and meets Kurt’s resigned eyes. He actually believes that Sebastian would give him up.

“I’ve already received two offers, and yet here you are.” Sebastian doesn’t do reassurance, but he does do logic.

“Uh huh. Everyone has their price. Yours is likely high.” Kurt weakly waves a dismissive hand, as though beyond convincing otherwise. Sebastian grabs it, cups it in his own. It’s not quite handholding, so he’s probably safe from being mocked for sentimentality.

“I’m not selling you.”

“Never?”

Sebastian groans. He may as well be reciting a sonnet for the teasing this is going to get him. “Never.”

“Oh.”

Kurt actually looks surprised. Disbelief clouds his flushed face again and he gives Sebastian one of his trademark scowls of skepticism - squinted eye, curled top lip, furrowed brow. Some might say it’s adorable. Certainly not Sebastian.

“Whatever. You just don’t want to put up with someone who doesn’t legally have to listen to you.”

“Yes, I much prefer your sassy gay disobedience.”

Sebastian expects some argument out of principle, but Kurt just bites his lip. “Are you good to go again?” he asks, borderline shyly.

“So that’s the end of your martyrdom?” Sebastian raises an eyebrow as he climbs between Kurt’s legs.

“Yeah, well, I guess willpower is for diets and not strangling moronic theater directors.”

Sebastian _loves_ heat sex.


	4. Chapter 4

[11:05PM] Sebastian:  _Where are you?_  
  
[11:11PM] Kurt:  _auburn saloon 4 drinks_  
  
[11:12PM] Sebastian:  _Come home._  
  
[11:18PM] Kurt:  _u locked out_  
  
[11:19PM] Sebastian:  _Nope._  
  
[11:19PM] Kurt:  _fire? building collapse? surprise party with hot male stripper waiting in cake?_  
  
[11:20PM] Sebastian:  _Want to fuck. Specifically: you. Get your hustle on._  
  
[11:21PM] Kurt:  _that’s cute u thinking I’m a booty call_  
  
[11:21PM] Kurt:  _goodnight Sebastian. Goodnight Sebastian’s hand_  
  
Sebastian makes it to the Auburn Saloon within 20 minutes. Sebastian doesn’t do lines, and even at a bar like Auburn where the line is hunched and smoking hipsters with suspenders and loafers and careful red lipstick in contrast to Sebastian’s clean dark jeans and very non-vintage Cheap Monday leather jacket, the door guy waves him in.  
  
Sebastian curls his way through the throng of drinkers, the bar having reached the tipping point where tables fill up and people just stand and eye other patrons as they yell at their friends over the music.  
  
It’s not his scene; Sebastian is a slave to the rhythm and if he goes out, it’s to dance. Since moving to New York he’s become accustomed to VIP booths and table service and world-renown DJs. The Auburn is all sticky wood tables and beatniq nights, kitsy shit on the walls and mismatched chandeliers with red bulbs.  
  
Kurt is perched around a bar table of about a dozen kids, rolling the stem of a martini glass in two fingers as he yells animatedly at the tall blond next to him. As Sebastian watches, Kurt uncrosses his legs and winds his booted feet through the legs of the bar stool, bracing himself to lean forward and talk right into the blond’s ear, hand flirtatious on his shoulder.  
  
Sebastian recognizes the blond, he was in the chorus line of NYADA’s fall production of Urinetown, which Kurt had starred in.  _Come on, Kurt. Standards,_  Sebastian thinks, and pushes his way to their table.  
  
Kurt’s mouth and eyes are “o”’s of shocked horror when he spots Sebastian. They don’t socialize together. Sebastian has his friends from NYU - good-looking, ambitious, intelligent people with taste, like himself. Kurt, just like in high school, has surrounded himself with ragtag misfits incapable of social interaction that isn’t obnoxious, peppered with theater references and ultimately ends in shameless self-promotion.  
  
“Hey, did you check a coat or can we just go?” Sebastian asks loudly, taking the glass from Kurt and sniffing the dregs - crantini - before putting it on the table and tugging Kurt off the stool.  
  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Kurt asks him indignantly, pulling his arm from Sebastian and edging his butt back up on the stool. His scowl is adorable, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, his hair losing some of its height and flopping over his forehead. Sebastian gives it to him straight.  
  
“I’m tired, I’m horny, I want to have sex, get at least six hours of uninterrupted sleep, have sex again, and then I want you to make pancakes.”  
  
“You are out of your mind, I can’t believe you came all the way up here to collect me for  _sex_  and  _pancakes_ ,” Kurt hisses.

“Aaaand since you’re being a such a bitch about it, you’re going to make me a sandwich before we go to bed. The good kind, where you grill it.”  
  
“A panini! It’s almost midnight!”  
  
“Some of us were holed up in a lab all day, you know, busy with legitimate academics, not swanning through scales and practicing pirouettes,” Sebastian argues. Kurt’s jaw drops and surely the bar is about to be overrun with dogs answering Kurt’s high-pitched gasp of outrage.  
  
Blond chorus boy looks confused maybe like he wants to be a hero. Kurt doesn’t seem to notice, glare firmly fixed on Sebastian.  
  
“I am your bonded Sebastian, not your, your  _slave._ ”  
  
Sebastian opens his mouth to debate the semantics of that claim, since technically, Kurt really is bound to obey, when Chorus Boy says to Kurt,  
  
“You’re bonded? Since when?”  
  
He sounds surprised and disappointed and Sebastian goes from exhausted and annoyed to seething mad so fast his vision goes spotty.  
  
“Yes he’s fucking bonded,” he snaps at Chorus Boy. “What, did you waste a night of smooth moves, jazz tap? Check your standings because this one is way out of your league.”  
  
Kurt’s hand on his chest pulls him back from where he’s barking at Chorus Boy. Kurt is wincing apologetically and he flaps a hand at Sebastian like Sebastian is a lost cause or something.  
  
“Jeremy, I’m so sorry. Yes, I’m bonded, it’s no big deal. This is Sebastian, he’s an ass, but he’s been my bonded since high school. Shotgun bonding, you know how it is.”  
  
And Sebastian doubts very much that a vapid kid like Jeremy  _knows how it is_ , but he doesn’t bother explaining, is in fact frozen and silenced by Kurt’s claim of  _no big deal._  
  
No big deal? No big deal to be irrevocably linked to another human being for the rest of your life? No big deal when being bonded to Sebastian means he lives three blocks from Central Park and will never have to worry about paying for school or his Barneys addiction? Is Kurt thinking  _no big deal_  when he’s bouncing himself on Sebastian’s dick and shouting his name? When he’s sleepy-eyed and cheeky, sipping his coffee across the table from Sebastian in the mornings, is he thinking no big deal, yeah I have to fuck this guy, but he’s a push-over and I can line up some other suckers who can high-kick and have daddy issues.  
  
“Oh, in that case, do you guys want to get out of here?” Jeremy has the utter gall to ask. Moron.  
  
At least Kurt has the good grace to start saying, “Oh, no, I didn’t mean that, we don’t - ”   
  
Damn right they don’t, and Sebastian has had enough of this. He wants his fuck, he wants to sleep, and yes, if he’s being honest in his moment of rage, he wants that sleep to be beside Kurt in their fancy expensive sheets, and if at some point in the night they end up with their legs tangled, he wants that too.  
  
Kurt only resists a little as Sebastian tosses forty bucks on the table and starts leading him through the crowd by the shoulders, apparently picking up on Sebastian’s mood and not looking to make a fuss in front of his friends. Kurt isn’t stupid, thank god.

It’s a little cooler outside the bar and once they clear the haze around the door, Sebastian takes a big breath of sewery New York air. He lets go of Kurt’s shoulders and starts walking south. He hears Kurt stumble behind him, heels of his ankle boots clacking, and wonders if forty dollars was enough to cover his drinks.  
  
“What’s the problem, Sebastian? Rethinking Jeremy’s offer?” Kurt asks from behind him. And Sebastian remembers this from the last time they fought about cleaning the coffee maker. Sebastian doesn’t normally back down from a good Kurt fight, but that day he’d already expended his energy reserves on two exams and had chosen to ignore Kurt instead of rise to his sniping. It had driven Kurt  _insane._ Sebastian’s anger is already subsiding the further they get from the bar and the closer they get to bed, but he stays quiet.  
  
“You think I’m going to fuck you when we get home, well I’m NOT. I’m having an ice bath and a tea and you can just stick with the jerking off plan.”  
  
Sebastian keeps walking, thankful that this is New York and no one looks twice at the demented kid in a snakeskin-print silk scarf yelling at him about tea and jerking off.  
  
“Damnit Sebastian, I am not your sexbot!” Kurt shouts, and that finally prompts a response.  
  
“Gee, maybe that’s the line I’ll use the next time you’re gagging for it, Hummel.”  
  
“That’s not the same, and you know it.”  
  
“Oh no? You get horny, I service you. Seems to be the EXACT same situation, yet here I am, getting attitude.”  
  
“But you’re always willing!” Kurt says, exasperated. Sebastian stops.  
  
“Yeah, it’s never a pain in the ass to be dragged out of a lab where attendance is worth 10% of the grade. Or suck up for notes from missed lectures. Or leave a bar when the entire forward line-up for the Nick’s just walked in.”  
  
“To be fair, I had to hear you bitch about that all night, AND you came three times.”  
  
“If you’re going to do something, do it well.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yeah, ‘oh’. So you think you could take a night off from gossiping about leotards and,” he drops his voice to a stage whisper, “ _Actors Access conspiracies_? These gays are a bad influence on you, Kurt. All you need to be is Kurt-fucking-Hummel to entice casting directors. Not another lispy, bitchy chorus whore.”  
  
Sebastian turns on his heel and starts towards their apartment again, leaving Kurt to follow, looking surprised.  
  
Waiting at a light to cross, Kurt reaches out a fidgety hand and smooths the hem on Sebastian’s t-shirt where it had flipped up over his hip.  
  
“You...you think I’m better than chorus fodder?”  
  
“You know you are.”  
  
“Sure. But I just think it’s interesting you think so too.”  
  
“Uh huh. Interested in what I think? Don’t even give me that. Bonded over a year and it’s ‘no big deal’. What the fuck was that?”  
  
Kurt looks up, brows drawn together. “What do you mean?”  
  
“You told that Jeremy guy, and I quote, that you were bonded,  _no big deal_.”  
  
Kurt frowns and then half-laughs and then frowns again. He looks almost embarrassed, if Kurt ever felt that emotion.  
  
“Well, come on Sebastian, it’s not like we bonded traditionally, or even for love.”

“Maybe not. But...” and here Sebastian is treading on unfamiliar ground.  _Feelings_  ground. He hates going here, hates that Kurt delights in his vulnerability, even if he has too much compassion to really use it to mess with Sebastian’s head. “...but we have something. Something at least worth informing acquaintances about. A deal of proportions that are large in size, if you will.”  
  
“Do we?” Kurt replies, suddenly all seriousness. They’ve reached their building, but Sebastian stops before touching his fob to the lock pad. He marvels again at Kurt’s grasp of their bonded situation.  
  
“Sure we do. Don’t try telling me you don’t feel it, especially when you’re spreading your legs three meals a day plus snacks.”  
  
Kurt groans, rolls his eyes and slumps against the brick of the building, apparently too disgusted with Sebastian to worry about the potential damage to his shirt.  
  
“Sebastian, this is what I’m talking about. Being bonded does not begin and end with sex. You boast about being bonded for over a year, but lets take a look at the goddamn wikipedia page for bonding and see just how well we measure up.” Kurt starts ticking off his fingers. “One, no ring. Your lack of romanticism means that I look like a second-time mail-order bonded, so yeah, I don’t bring it up. It’s hard to brag about a bonded who won’t even come backstage to my shows, let alone send flowers.”  
  
“I come to your shows!”  
  
“That’s  _no big deal_  Sebastian! That’s just you getting the benefit of premier entertainment.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say  _premier_  ent-”  
  
“Shut up. Two, it’s called affection, Sebastian. I know you feel it, because you are a big secret softy who likes to sneak in hugs under the guise of grabbing my ass.”  
  
“What!”  
  
“Yeah, you’re not as subtle as you think you are. I’ve been waiting for more than a year for you to just kiss me. One time our mouths bumped and you slept on the couch for the rest of the night. You being that adverse to the most common form of affection in existence tells me that you are scared as hell to make our bond into a  _big deal_ , so sue me if I’m not falling all over myself to reassure you when I get _nothing_  in return.”  
  
Sebastian can’t do anything but stare. The street noise and distant honks fade out as Kurt’s words sink in. A ring? Kisses? Sebastian prides himself on their untraditional bond. Writing their own rules, not conforming to society’s fucked up bonded expectations. And, he supposed, he thought Kurt felt the same way. Apparently not.  
  
They were never supposed to be this. They were never supposed to be that couple, the showy couple that Kurt and Blaine had done a good job of emulating before that fateful party. Sebastian and Kurt operated like two people in a tug-o-war. Connected, but always pulling. And it was good, or at least, resulted in good sex.  
  
It isn’t that Sebastian doesn’t want to kiss Kurt. He just never considered it. There is no kissing in tug-o-war.  
  
Kurt brushes delicately under his eyes, wiping away a couple of tears. He crosses his arms, his long neck dipping as he closes his eyes. Sebastian realises that Kurt is doing that thing that good couples do. Being patient. Staying when he wants to hide. Sebastian probably doesn’t deserve this. Will probably trash all the kindness Kurt extends to him.

“I’m doing my best here,” he says, for lack of anything better.  
  
“I know. I know that. It’s just...not good enough, I guess.”  
  
Sebastian sighs, rubs his face. All he wanted was a fuck and some sleep and instead he got a confessional and a disappointed bonded. His father told him that the secret to a happy life was a happy bonded. Sebastian had interpreted that as keeping his bonded well-fucked. Apparently it was time to invest a little more effort.  
  
“I’ll give you a kiss if you make me that panini.”  
  
Kurt barks a surprised laugh. He squints up at Sebastian as if trying to figure out if his leg is being pulled.  
  
“I’ll think about it.”  
  
“How about an ass-grab to help persuade you?”  
  
Kurt laughs again, genuine and tinkling down their street. He pushes away from the wall and slowly holds out his arms.  
  
Sebastian steps closer, and it’s a little stiff at first, but then one of Kurt’s arms goes up around his neck and the other wraps around his ribs, and they’re doing it. They’re really hugging  _and_ Sebastian gets a palm full of Kurt’s round little ass. It’s nice. It’s really, really nice. Kurt’s chest is hard against his, and his neck is right there under Sebastian’s nose, soft and warm.  
  
They stay like that for a few more seconds before Kurt pulls away, ducking his head and wiping at his eyes again.  
  
“Not bad, Smythe. We can work at it.”  
  
Sebastian grins, slips an arm around Kurt’s shoulders, and unlocks the door.


	5. Chapter 5

“No. Shave.”  
  
“Aw, come on, Kurt,” Sebastian grouches and tries chasing Kurt’s face with his own. Kurt can’t get far, locked between the edge of their dresser and Sebastian’s bracketing arms. Sebastian manages to get a good rasp up the side of Kurt’s smooth jaw with his own weekend-lazy unshaven cheek. Kurt makes a noise like an angry velociraptor and tries ducking under Sebastian’s arm.   
  
“Okay, okay,” Sebastian relents, laughing. “I’ll shave. For you, you big baby. Being gay means you’re supposed to enjoy masculinity.”   
  
Kurt glares at him. “There is a difference between appreciating rugged stubble from afar and getting your mouth rubbed raw by it.”   
  
“I will take this opportunity to remind you that kissing was your idea.”  
  
“Consider my face-sucking needs satisfied,” Kurt quips, but Sebastian catches sight of his lips quirking in a sweet smile before Kurt pulls his shirt over his head.   
  
They do that now. Suck face. Make out. Kiss. On the lips, and other places too. Sebastian is particularly fond of the nape of Kurt’s neck, the point of his shoulder, and the taunt curve where his ass rounds into his thigh. Kurt’s lips are adventuresome too, kisses turning into bites on Sebastian’s biceps, his stomach.   
  
The sex, though he didn’t believe it possible, gets even better.   
  
The little added touches, the freedom to suck on the knobs of Kurt’s spine while Sebastian takes him from behind. Not only hearing Kurt’s moans and cries, but feeling them leave his mouth, shooting directly into Sebastian’s -- it’s like pepper on steak, icing on cake, any number of trite comparisons that really can’t represent just how worked up Sebastian gets when he’s buried in Kurt’s clenching pussy, mouth latched to the point of Kurt’s jaw just below his ear.   
  
The first time they kissed, Sebastian blew his load at the same time. He felt betrayed by his body as his orgasm was sucked right out of him while completely unprepared. It had been the night of the fetching incident, and though Kurt had managed to get all his clothes off in good time, Sebastian had entered him with his jeans dropped down around his ankles, t-shirt rucked up around his middle.Fucking him from the foot of the bed, Sebastian had tugged Kurt closed to the edge, hauling his thighs up around Sebastian’s hips. Kurt was already blissed out, arching his back in the dim light from their bedside lamps, all flushed and rolling, doing his best to sink himself on Sebastian’s dick.   
  
Sebastian had obligingly pumped into him, enjoying the tarty way Kurt shimmied up onto his elbows, looking down his body for a better view of Sebastian’s cock moving in and out of his pussy. Kurt’s mouth had been open, his eye’s heavy-lidded, making little “uh” noises with every roll of his hips.   
  
It had been so easy to just tip forward, to leave Kurt’s legs hiked up on his hips and brace himself on the bed. Kurt, lost in his own pleasure, hadn’t realised how close Sebastian’s face was to his own until Sebastian’s mouth was almost on his. When he did realise what was happening, he surged up a little higher on his elbows and bam! Sebastian was cramping up he came so hard, Kurt’s lips smooth and firm under his, his lips parted just enough for their tongues to touch.   
  
Sebastian had to break away to finish coming, grabbing Kurt’s legs again to pull him close as possible as Sebastian shoved himself deeper, deeper into his fluttering pussy. Kurt had evidently come too, falling back to the bed, his back arched and fingers clawing. The feedback loop of watching Kurt come and feeling him clench around Sebastian’s dick and the lingering feeling of Kurt’s mouth against his, Sebastian’s nose full of Kurt’s clean scent, Kurt’s breath puffing over his lips, it made for a hell of an orgasm.   
  
Sebastian had eventually let go, pulling out to leave Kurt dripping and gaping. Kurt had straightened his legs, stretching with a purr. Sebastian, the first to admit to taking his blessed life for granted, indulged in a moment of pure gratitude. Kurt was perfection. Well, he was still a pain in Sebastian’s ass, and caustically bitchy and Sebastian would only be seen in public with him one outfit out of three, but other than that, Kurt was a sweet-tasting godsend.   
  
Sebastian would take him again in a few minutes, slinging Kurt’s calf up over his shoulder and straddling Kurt’s other thigh to plunge back into his messy pussy. But before that he had shucked off his jeans and crawled up until their heads were even on the duvet, Kurt’s sleepy baby-blues blinking at him smugly.   
  
“Good?” Sebastian had asked, knowing that Kurt would understand the question.   
  
Kurt raised an eyebrow.   
  
“Marvelous,” he drawled, and that was apparently the end of Kurt letting Sebastian dictate their levels of ‘affection’ because he rolled forward to playfully bump his nose into Sebastian’s before kissing him into another fuck frenzy.

And so Sebastian had apparently unleashed a flood of spit-swapping. Sometimes they even kissed without sex. On one memorably hot and humid night they’d gone on a gelato hunt and Kurt had looked so delicious, mango gelato melting on his lower lip, that Sebastian had slung a sweaty arm around Kurt’s sweaty neck and sucked the lip into his mouth right there on the street. Kurt had been surprised but he’d kissed back and pushed a thigh into Sebastian’s groin and it was good. Really good.   
  
The only time Kurt doesn’t want to kiss is first thing in the morning (personally, Sebastian couldn’t care less - if they both have morning breath, what difference does it make if his tongue is in his own smelly mouth or Kurt’s?), after Sebastian has eaten his own jizz out of Kurt’s thrice-fucked cunt (“Ugh, no! Sebastian!” and Sebastian had forced his tongue into Kurt’s mouth anyways, laughing), and when Sebastian’s stubble is long and bristly enough to pink up the tender skin around Kurt’s mouth.   
  
Sebastian eyes the bathroom, but if he shaves now, it’ll only be good for one or two kisses before Kurt abandons him for his insufferable theater lackeys. Instead he follows Kurt to the closet, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist from behind, gently settling his rough chin on Kurt’s silken shoulder.   
  
“I think you should stay here tonight and help me...study...,” he cajoles.   
  
“I heard those air quotes,” Kurt replies, flicking efficiently between the shirts hanging (by fabric and color) in front of them. “There will be little studying done, and I know you have a test. Besides, Rachel is trotting out her new love interest and I have my lasers set to ‘judge’.”   
  
Sebastian grunts. That’s some tough competition. He tickles his fingers over Kurt’s smooth belly and delicately, to avoid any scraping, sets his lips to the side of Kurt’s neck. Kurt’s nimble fingers hesitate on a hanger and his head tips just a little to the side, stretching his neck under Sebastian’s mouth.   
  
“You already know he’s going to be just another closeted Richard Chamberlain clone. She has a disturbing type,” Sebastian breathes against Kurt’s neck, walking his lips up toward his ear. Kurt’s fingers haven’t moved and his stomach muscles are getting tighter under Sebastian’s hands. Sebastian might actually win this one. It  _has_  been ten hours since Kurt last sat himself on Sebastian’s cock, slowly working himself up and down, kissing whimpers into Sebastian’s mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

[Leaves off directly from part 5]  
  
“You could come with me,” Kurt says, a little breathlessly. Sebastian freezes.   
  
“What?”   
  
“You heard me.”  
  
Sebastian steps away from him and studies Kurt’s face. He looks deliberately casual. And without a shirt on, his hair tousled from pulling it off, he also looks like a preadolescent water nymph. Which Sebastian will readily admit is now a turn-on. Kurt raises an eyebrow at his silent study.   
  
“You don’t have to look so suspicious, Sebastian. We’re just going for Indian. It’s dinner time, you like Indian food, and you should come eat with us.” He sounds both sincere and exasperated.   
  
“I don’t like sharing food.”   
  
“So we’ll get you your very own vindaloo.”  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Sebastian finally demands. Kurt has never made him hang out with Rachel before. Kurt is even kind enough to text Sebastian if Rachel is coming over so he can avoid the apartment or lock himself in the office. It’s not that he even minds Rachel all that much - she’s a moron, but an amusing moron - but if she gets even half a glass of Riesling in her, the claws come out and she’ll start in on Sebastian’s past and his homewrecking and blackmailing ways. Which are undeniable, but he doesn’t need to hear it from a hypocritical little hack like Rachel Berry.   
  
Kurt blinks and shakes his head with a sad smile, turning back to the closet and carefully extracting a camel-colored button-up with black epaulets.   
  
“This isn’t a ruse to trick you into furniture shopping or something, Sebastian. Just - forget I asked.”   
  
“No - I mean, I could go for some food,” Sebastian finds himself rushing to say. He’s not totally sure why - he could go get dinner anywhere, this is New York City, he could have whatever he wants. But he likes eating with Kurt. Truth be told, he doesn’t even mind sharing food with Kurt. Usually if someone suggests everyone at the table share an appetizer or dessert, Sebastian wants to choke bitches. He’s a 6’3” active 19-year-old, he needs that entire plate of scallops to himself, okay? But Kurt eats like a bird and has a perfect record of ordering things Sebastian doesn’t know he likes. Without Kurt he never would have discovered the wonder of duck fat hollandaise and for that alone Kurt is permitted to pick off Sebastian’s plate without getting his hand stabbed.   
  
Kurt squints at him, as though Kurt might insist on taking back the invite. Then he smiles for real.

“Okay then. We’re meeting at Moti Mahal in 40 minu-”  
  
“On one condition,” Sebastian interrupts. If Kurt really wants him to come, Sebastian isn’t going to waste the opportunity to take advantage of the fact.   
  
“Oh yeah, and what is that? I’m not muzzling Rachel.” Kurt sighs.   
  
“Good idea, but no. I get to go down on you before we leave.”   
  
“Oh,” Kurt says faintly, eyes wide and cheeks flushing as he looks to the bathroom, undoubtedly contemplating his 30 minute routine. Sebastian dips two fingers into the back of Kurt’s sweatpants, fondling the taunt top of his ass crack.   
  
“I just want a taste. The perfect aperitif, if you will,” Sebastian teases, kissing the curve of Kurt’s ear.   
  
“Twist my arm,” Kurt breathes, and starts tugging off Sebastian’s shirt too. Another advantage to upping the anti of their sex to invite kisses and touches: Kurt can’t seem to get enough of Sebastian’s chest. Will spend long delicious minutes outlining Sebastian’s abs with his tongue, seemingly for his own pleasure, but Sebastian sure as hell enjoys it too.   
  
Once naked, Sebastian lays back on the bed, (“Here, like this, yes”) pulling Kurt by the hips until he’s forced to straddle up Sebastian’s body, kneeling right over his face. Sebastian groans and positions Kurt’s pelvis so he can suck on his hanging pussy lips. Kurt answers his groan and leans forward to brace his arms on the headboard.   
  
When he looks down between Kurt’s spread and quivering thighs, he can see his own erection bobbing up over his abdomen. He doesn’t even care, he has everything he wants perfectly positioned above his face, bare and pink and slick where he tongues deep into Kurt’s hole.   
  
Kurt lets Sebastian maneuver him around by the hips, teasing and pulling him away when Kurt tries to rub down on his tongue. He’s already making a good mess, salty tart taste and smell blasting through Sebastian’s senses like a shot of tequila. If Sebastian could only bring one thing with him to a deserted island, it would be a satellite phone. If he could bring two things, it would be the satellite phone and Kurt’s juicy little cunt.   
  
Hungry for the gush of fluids that come with Kurt’s orgasms, Sebastian pulls Kurt’s hips down hard, locking his mouth around the top of Kurt’s pussy, flicking his little clit with the tip of his tongue. Above him, Kurt screeches unattractively and struggles to pull away.   
  
“Goddamnit Sebastian, your stubble is like barbed wire!” he bitches, and Sebastian pulls away so his cheeks aren’t against the tender skin of Kurt’s inner thighs. Kurt is scowling down at him between his braced arms, red-faced and sweaty. Sebastian rolls his eyes and presses his nose into the soft mound above Kurt’s slit, trying to catch his breath.   
  
“Alright, fussy. Help a brother out and spread a little more, will you?”   
  
Kurt obliges, his flexible dancer’s hips spreading wide and wanton above Sebastian’s face. He even reaches down with both hands and delicately lifts the lips of his swollen cunt up and out of the way, spreading them wide and giving Sebastian a heart-stopping view of his gorgeous pink cavern, all twitching and wet.

Sebastian has to reach down and grab the base of his dick to keep for coming at the sight alone. He uses his tongue in long firm swipes up and over and around Kurt’s exposed pussy, swallowing and sucking and swallowing some more when Kurt comes, whining long and loud, rocking on his mouth.   
  
Sebastian lazily tongues at Kurt’s folds while he finishes coming down, replacing Kurt’s fingers with his own so he can gently spread his pussy apart and lick the juices from every hidden spot. When he’s done he swipes the pad of his thumb over Kurt’s little nub and Kurt sighs and shivers, over-sensitive. With a final sigh of satisfaction, Kurt drops to the other side of the bed, curling his face into the top of Sebastian’s bare shoulder.   
  
“For that, you get your own garlic naan too,” he mutters, eyes closed. Sebastian chuckles, wiping his lower face off and snaking a hand back down to his cock, tugging a few times, bringing it back to full salute.   
  
Kurt doesn’t say anything, just sleepily rolls onto his back and spreads his legs, beautifully submissive. Sebastian admires Kurt’s sleek anatomy - long muscles, perfect leg to torso ratio - before rolling after him.   
  
Kurt’s hands rise to Sebastian’s sides as Sebastian eases himself between Kurt’s thighs. His eyes are sleepy too, but his mouth is soft and sweetly happy, and without thinking, Sebastian leans down to kiss it.   
  
“Mmmph.” Kurt flops his head to the side. “Shave,” he murmurs, pressing his thumbs to Sebastian’s nipples in admonishment.  
  
Sebastian snorts and carefully mouths the sharp curve of Kurt’s chin. He really wants to get off, his dick swaying between them, and he really wants Kurt’s mouth involved. Which gives him a stunningly brilliant idea.   
  
Slowly, as though approaching a skittish kitten, Sebastian starts climbing up Kurt’s body, his eyes on Kurt’s face for any sign of bolting.

Kurt doesn’t look concerned until Sebastian is straddling his chest, and even then, it’s just a little confused frown. Sebastian runs his knuckles over Kurt’s brow and then cups the side of his face, slowly wiggling the tip of his thumb between Kurt’s lips. Kurt lets him in, and even lets Sebastian pull his mouth open, thumb caressing his plump bottom lip. It isn’t until he sees Sebastian easing forward, cock in hand, that he shuts his mouth, scowling.   
  
“Nuh-uh. Come on, fussy. Open up,” he whispers, and lays the tip of his cock, the head large and proud, on Kurt’s sweet lower lip.   
  
Kurt shakes his head a little, Sebastian’s cockhead moving with it. Sebastian’s breathing is getting faster, whistling out of his nose in urgent little pants and he slides his hand from Kurt’s jaw up into his hair, threading his fingers in and holding his head still. He’s ragingly hard now, and a drop of fluid pearls up from the slit of his dick, so he daubs it to the seam of Kurt’s lips.

Kurt keeps scowling, but his tongue betrays him, poking out for a taste of Sebastian’s dick, a warm little wriggle on his sensitive head.   
  
“Fuck, yes. Ah fuck, please Kurt. Open up, please,” he hears himself begging, but he’ll be ashamed later, because right now there is nothing he wants more than to feel that tongue cupped around his shaft.   
  
He feels Kurt’s hands come up to his own hips, like a parody of their earlier positions. But Sebastian gets it: this is permission, but also insurance, Kurt controlling his movements instead of leaving Sebastian to fuck his face.   
  
Kurt’s eyes flutter closed as his mouth opens, and he pulls Sebastian in so that the entire head of his cock gets suckled between Kurt’s lips. He literally shouts, the hand not in Kurt’s hair going to the top of the headboard, clutching for all he’s worth because  _Kurt Hummel is sucking his dick._  
  
He can feel everything and it’s glorious. Kurt’s tongue and lips explore carefully, mapping out the ridges and curves of Sebastian’s penis, like he’s getting acquainted with the feel and taste of it. When he’s had his fill he starts pulling Sebastian’s hips in and out and the sight of his shaft moving through the grip of Kurt’s lips is all it takes.   
  
“Shit, Kurt, I’m gonna blow,” he gasps, and Kurt’s eyes pop open and he’s shoving Sebastian away.  
  
“Ah! Ah!” Sebastian shouts, grabbing himself and pumping madly to completion. He grips Kurt’s hair harder as Kurt tries to wriggle from out under him and blasts four huge, hot loads of come over Kurt’s pretty and very pissed off face.   
  
“Goddamnit, Sebastian!” Kurt yelps, and slaps the side of Sebastian’s hip, hard. Sebastian knows he should wipe off his self-satisfied smirk, but Kurt looks utterly delicious under him: nose scrunched up in indignation, face flushed red, hair in every direction, completely debauched and covered in Sebastian’s jizz.   
  
“Get..off..of...me,” Kurt grunts, hauling Sebastian over by his knee and struggling up and out of the heap of him. Sebastian lets himself be pushed to the side, and snugs into a pillow at the top of the bed, his spent cock still in his hand, smile still on his face. He watches Kurt stumble to the bathroom, wiping at his face with his palms, still grumbling.  
  
When Kurt emerges, Sebastian has found his underwear and is back on the bed, laying back and watching a rerun of How I Met Your Mother.   
  
“We are so late!” Kurt snipes, going to the closet and tossing a pair of jeans and a v-neck t-shirt for Sebastian on the bed.   
  
“Late for what?” Sebastian asks, confused. Kurt looks back at him like he’s a world class idiot.  
  
“Hello? Dinner with Rachel and company? The very event you just used to bargain for sex?”   
  
Oh, right. He is pretty hungry. And pleased with himself. And incapable of doing much more than lying here and reveling in the fact that Kurt let him put his cock in Kurt’s mouth. That bitchy, expressive, beautiful mouth, that nimble tongue, and maybe someday, the hot clutch of his throat...  
  
“Oh, right. I am pretty hungry,” is the only thing he says out loud, stretching obscenely. “Sorry. I just had my mind - and my dick - blown.”   
  
Kurt marches over so he’s blocking the flatscreen. “I hope you enjoyed it. The next time you try that, I’m biting it off.”  
  
Sebastian winces at the thought. “Naw, come on Kurt, you were enjoying it for a while, admit it,” he returns, reaching for the shirt. Kurt doesn’t even hesitate.   
  
“Biting. It. Off.”   
  
“Alright, alright,” Sebastian says calmly, unperturbed. He’s honestly too blissed out to care right now. And besides, Kurt has a terrible track record for following up on sex-denial threats.


	7. Chapter 7

Sebastian wakes up to the sound of a six-year-old’s self-amused chuffs of laughter coming from the living room.   
  
The bedside clock tells him that it’s only 6:02, which is far too early for Sebastian on a Sunday morning. But left unattended William Smythe will cause untold shenanigans, up to and including: drawing penises on every page of Sebastian’s anatomy textbooks, inviting homeless people in for breakfast from an open window, kicking Kurt’s favorite doorman Pablo, and then lighting the toaster on fire. Which is what happened yesterday morning.   
  
“Kuuuurt,” Sebastian groans, throwing an arm to Kurt’s side of the bed. Not only does Sebastian want to stay in bed, but out of the two of them, Kurt is the only one who can distract William enough to sort of get him to behave.   
  
His arm hits nothing but cool sheets, and before he opens his eye for confirmation, he hears Kurt’s light voice.   
  
“Shhhh, Sebastian is still sleeping, Willy. You don’t want to wake him up.”   
  
“Yes I do. Bastian is soooooo lazy.”  
  
“Well, I’ll give you that. He can also be grumpy, so quiet please,” Kurt whispers.   
  
“No! He should get up and help us build the fort!” William whisper-yells.  _Such a little shit_ , Sebastian thinks, but he kind of loves his little brother’s stubbornness. Reminds Sebastian of another young Smythe who grew up getting what he wanted.   
  
Kurt is silent. Sebastian knows this trickery. He’s probably turned away from William, arms crossed, head imperious. He knows that William will do anything to keep Kurt from ignoring him. Kurt’s the one who takes him to the zoo, and helps him decorate his New York bike for riding around the Park, and lets him stay up late to make Home Alone sundaes.   
  
“Okay Kurt, I’ll be quiet,” William concedes in no time, his revised whisper still obnoxiously loud.   
  
“Thank you, Willy. You’re a good boy,” Kurt tells him and Sebastian hears the smack of a kiss to William’s head. William probably has a sly look on his face and planned the whole mini-tantrum just for the kiss. He’s a Smythe, and all Smythe men are clever, even if he’s also a little shit.   
  
Sebastian rolls over and tries to sink back into sleep, but listening to William direct the construction of a pillow fort and Kurt arguing for things like turrets and moats is just too amusing. Before long they’re so into it they’ve both forgotten to whisper and Kurt is teaching William to sing Knights of the Round Table.   
  
“Okay, let’s clean up now, Willy. Your parents will be over soon and you can help me make muffins.”

Whenever Sebastian’s parents come for the weekend it’s a production of epic proportions, but at least they’d rather stay at a hotel than “invade your little place” as his mother likes to call it. Doesn’t stop them from dumping William on two busy students though, of course.   
  
They’d been hesitant at first, and in hindsight he wishes he’d played up on their worries about leaving William with Kurt there.   
  
 _“I’m not telling you how to manage your Boy, Sebastian, but your mother and I would appreciate it if he dressed and acted appropriately while William is staying with you.”  
  
“Dad, please don’t be ridiculous. We’re not bonded like that and you know it. In fact, it would be a miracle if I could talk Kurt into wearing less than three layers just to watch TV.”_  
  
What he should have said was,  _”Sorry Dad, I have a strict no-pants rule when Kurt is in the apartment and I’m not willing to bend on it. Better keep William at the hotel and his innocence intact.”_  No one but himself to blame for fucking that up.  
  
“Blueberry muffins?”   
  
“Sure, buddy.”   
  
“Blueberry and M&Ms?”   
  
“Hmmm, I think that sounds delicious.”   
  
“Blueberry and M&Ms and  _gummy bears_?!” William asks excitedly.   
  
“Oh boy, that sounds like a lovely new cavity. We can make some special Willy muffins with all that stuff. But first, we clean up.”   
  
“Maria makes me clean up too, I hate it.”  
  
“You make a mess, you need to clean it up, that’s the rule,” Kurt explains seriously.  
  
“That rule sucks. I think you should clean it up.”  
  
“I’m going to help, but we made the mess together, so we clean it up together.”   
  
“You’re the  _slave_ ,  _you_  should clean it all up.”  
  
Sebastian bolts upright in bed. That little fucker. He starts kicking the sheet from around his legs when he hears Kurt’s calm reply.   
  
“Hmmm. Who told you I’m a slave?”   
  
“Mom and Dad. They said you’re a Boy and you have to do what Bastian says. And Mackenzie MacIntyre in second grade says that you’re a sex slave who has to do sex all the time.”   
  
“Okay, first off, if your last name is MacIntyre, what are you doing naming your kid Mackenzie? Honestly. Second, and this may come as a shock to you, Mackenzie MacIntyre in the second grade is wrong.”  
  
“You’re not a Boy?” William challenges.   
  
“Yes, I am. But that does not make me a slave and I do  _not_  have to do what Sebastian says.”   
  
“Not even sex?”   
  
“Not even sex.” Sebastian snorts quietly at that, laying back down. As if Kurt could resist.   
  
“So, are you going to marry Bastian?”  
  
“Nope. Boys can’t get married. Do you think that’s fair?”   
  
“...No?” William tries, clearly unsure of the answer Kurt’s looking for.

“You’re right, it’s not fair. You can tell Mackenzie,  _and_  your parents, that Boys are just like other people and we should be able to get married and have houses and kids just like anyone else, okay? No one should have to be a slave, no matter who they are.”  
  
Silence, but Sebastian suspects William is nodding because he hears a smile in Kurt’s voice.   
  
“Alright. Let’s have a race! First one to put their couch back together wins.”   
  
Sebastian finally hauls himself out of bed, hitting the bathroom and putting on a pair of sweatpants. He tries to imagine Kurt’s intelligence and compassion blunted by a life of servitude. He can’t. For one thing, no matter what his conditioning might have been, Kurt was born to be a diva. Second, Kurt is pure energy. He’s constant movement and performance and attitude and opinion and focus and drive. Dampened by a chain and a life in the bedroom alone...fuck, Kurt would be long dead. No doubt about it, without personal expression, Kurt Hummel would blow out like a flame.  
  
Sebastian is still musing on these melancholy thoughts when he ambles into the kitchen, and he blames them for going straight to Kurt’s back and wrapping around him, leaning in to kiss his jaw good morning.   
  
“Hey a-hole, nice of you to get up,” Kurt snarks at him, but he does turn his head to give Sebastian a blueberry-flavored kiss. Sebastian lingers, pressing the remnants of his morning wood into Kurt’s ass.  
  
“Ugh, you guys are gross,” William states.   
  
Sebastian finishes the kiss in his own good time and then leans around the other side of Kurt so he can observe his little brother, standing apron-clad on a stepstool, making a huge fucking mess in his own mixing bowl.   
  
“You’re gross,” he returns.   
  
“Bastian!”  
  
“Face facts, kid, you’re pretty gross right now.”   
  
William reaches up to check his hair, as usual carefully styled to look like his big brother’s, depositing even more muffin batter in it.   
  
“Oh, buddy, better wash your hands,” Kurt tells him, deftly snatching William’s wooden spoon out of his other hand as it flings batter at the fridge.   
  
William trundles over to the sink and Sebastian resumes what has to pass for their morning fuck when the shit-disturber is in town. He manhandles Kurt around and hikes him up onto the counter, his pajama-clad ass shifting mixing bowls and egg cartons.   
  
“Oof, Sebastian, what-”   
  
“Morning, fussy,” he says against Kurt’s mouth, cutting him off and kissing into his exasperated grin. Kurt returns the kiss with interest, giving a little hum of approval when Sebastian locks into the V of his legs.   
  
“Gross!” William reminds them.   
  
“Hey, don’t be a shit. Go get dressed,” Sebastian says over his shoulder.   
  
“I’m telling Dad you said ‘shit’.”   
  
“Shit. Hell. Fuck. Double fuck. Go ahead, just means I won’t teach you any more good ones.”   
  
“There are other swear words?” William asks, unable to hide his intrigue.   
  
“Go get dressed and you’ll find out.”   
  
“Okay!” William agrees excitedly, already throwing off his apron.

Sebastian turns back around to Kurt’s frown.   
  
“And the Worst Brother of the Year award goes to...”  
  
“I think you mean  _Best_  Brother of the Year. Worst Son though...I’ve got that one nailed,” he corrects. Kurt laughs, rolling his eyes and nudging Sebastian out of the way so he can get down and start scooping batter into muffin tins.   
  
“I’m pretty sure you have Best Bonded coming to you. I mean, thanks for getting up with him this morning,” Sebastian says, trying not to sound as sheepish as he feels. He scoops a blueberry out of the batter with his finger and Kurt gives him an elbow in the gut.  
  
“Well, add it to the list of crap you owe me for this weekend. Including being left to babysit while you get to eat lobster bisque at the Portsmouth Club.”  
  
Sebastian winces in embarrassment. His parents had made it awkwardly clear that Kurt was not invited to lunch that afternoon by making reservations at a private club that only allows bonded for certain evening events. When he’d tried to suggest another restaurant, his father had shut down the conversation by saying, “We came into town to see  _you,_  Sebastian. Kurt will stay with William.”   
  
“Kurt...look...I’m sorry that-”  
  
“Ugh, no. Please don’t. I’m not interested in hearing you defend your parents’ not-so-subtle tactics for putting me in my place,” Kurt says. His voice is strong, but his head is down and his hands are trembling a bit as he divies more muffin cups into the awaiting tin.   
  
“I’m not  _defending_  them, I’m just-”  
  
“No, really, I don’t want to hear it,” Kurt says firmly, going up on tiptoe to shut him up with a nip and a kiss. “I would definitely rather go to FAO Schwarz with Willy than spend another meal delighting your mom with my ‘surprising vocabulary!’.”   
  
Sebastian groans and pulls Kurt back in for another kiss, hand in the small of Kurt’s back. His mother is ridiculous, but at least a little more liberal than his dad, who hardly acknowledges Kurt at all and would probably prefer it if he kneeled at Sebastian’s feet like a respectable Boy.   
  
Kurt sinks into him, head tilted up, arms around his neck. Sebastian has had his fill of family and would be totally okay if his parents and William fell down a manhole so he could fuck Kurt on the table in their dining nook in peace. And then Kurt could make them hazelnut lattes and be Sebastian’s personal chair cushion out on the balcony. Then they could dominate a table at their favorite crepe place for the afternoon and Kurt could quiz him on immune dysregulation and Sebastian could read Audrey for Kurt’s Seymour Krelborn.  
  
But no.

Sebastian’s parents will be here in less than an hour, magnanimously complementing Kurt’s baking while raising their eyebrows when Sebastian pours the coffee instead of him. Then they’ll dump William on Kurt and refuse to hear, to really hear Sebastian, when he tells them that Kurt is more his - ugh-  _boyfriend_  than his bonded. Hell, Sebastian doesn’t even want to face that reality, but there it is, kissing him with happy little hums and tickling his fingers through the short hairs at Sebastian’s neck and about five seconds from climbing Sebastian like a fireman's pole. Making Sebastian feel like his world would stop turning if Kurt wasn’t walking beside him, making fun of his graphic t-shirt collection, and being incredibly flexible (legs folding back under Sebastian’s hands, knees practically at his ears, sweaty and red-faced, Sebastian’s thrusts ripping lusty rough screams from his throat), and slipping organic energy bars into Sebastian’s bag before he leaves for a 12-hour school binge.   
  
Kurt breaks the kiss abruptly and puts three fingers to Sebastian’s lips when he growls and tries to recapture Kurt’s warm delicious mouth.   
  
“Shhhh. Hear that?” There is silence coming from their office-slash-spare-bedroom. “Willy,” Kurt breathes darkly and lets go of Sebastian to dart across the living room.   
  
“Shit,” Sebastian swears and follows after him.   
  
His worst fears are unfounded; William isn’t hanging from the window sill, the walls are not decorated with penises painted with Kurt’s acrylics, and nothing is in flames.   
  
William is curled on the bed, fast asleep, only half out of his jim-jams.   
  
“Well, he was up at 4 o’clock,” Kurt whispers, slumping against the doorframe. Sebastian rests an arm around Kurt’s waist and hooks his chin on Kurt’s shoulder.   
  
“Tell me the truth, did you drug him?” he accuses quietly.   
  
“My secret is letting him eat as much candy as he wants. The sugar crash takes care of the rest.”  
  
“Let’s never have kids. Deal?”   
  
Kurt twists around in his arm, looking up at him with awake-since-4:00am eyes. A little bit of puffiness and some light shadows do nothing to dim their crystalline beauty or their shrewdness.   
  
“You really want to never have kids with me?” he whispers.  _You really want to make that choice_ together _?_  Sebastian hears him ask.   
  
“Never.”  _Forever_ , is what he can’t yet say, but he hopes Kurt hears in return.   
  
“Deal.”


	8. Chapter 8

Unfortunately, the effort to make Hugh and Clara Smythe understand and accept his relationship with Kurt is only semi-successful.  
  
They understand that Sebastian has never conformed to traditional bonded conduct; like many liberally-minded people of his generation he finds it outdated and distasteful. They even understand that he has never known Kurt as anything but a musical-theater-loving fashion-holocaust smartass, and he doesn’t want that to change just because Kurt is now outted as a registered and bonded Boy. It was only the unusual circumstances of their bonding and Kurt’s age (old as balls for a virgin Boy) that had made the legalities of the bonding possible; as a States Attorney and public servant, his Dad would have come under scrutiny for purchasing any Boy but a dirt-cheap 17-year-old like Kurt.   
  
So, they get it. Sebastian is not interested in the care and tempering of a lustful little body slave. And if he did try keeping Kurt in the apartment, naked and waiting on him, all he’d get is a signature Hummel squint of incredulity followed by an unamused single eyebrow lift. And yeah, he’s pretty smitten with that eyebrow.   
  
What they  _don’t_  do is accept it. As evidenced by the painfully WASPy frat boy with the tenderloin haircut strategically placed across the table from him in the Portsmouth Club.   
  
“So Andrew, your father tells us you’re at Columbia, first year law,” Hugh Smythe prompts him unnecessarily. Sweater Vest was doing just fine supplying conversation about himself.  
  
“Yes Sir, class of 2015. Just landed an externship with the FCC,” Andrew replies before looking at Sebastian expectantly. Sebastian takes a sip of iced tea and lets him look, eyes raking down to Sebastian’s chest and back up again blatantly.   
  
“Our Andrew is a busy man!” Andrew’s own father adds, his mother nodding along too. “He’s Editor of the Columbia Political Review, on the sailing team  _and_  vice president of Alpha Phi Alpha.” Andrew pantomimes buffing his nails on his sweater vest and Sebastian makes a face into his iced tea.   
  
“Oh, a fraternity, how fun!” Sebastian’s mother says, giving Sebastian’s leg a pinch under the table. Sebastian restrains himself from kicking his own mother in the shin.  
  
“Yes, Andrew was the first openly gay pledge to be accepted to Alpha Phi Alpha house. And now he practically runs the place,” Andrew’s mother says proudly, palm to her chest, like it wasn’t Andrew’s hoover mouth that likely got him in.   
  
“Oh, you’re gay?” Sebastian asks innocently. He crosses his leg before his mother can give it another pinch.   
  
Their soup arrives before Andrew can do more than smirk knowingly at him, in what Sebastian can only guess is a flirtatious manner.   
  
Sebastian lets his father rattle off Sebastian’s own list of clubs and accomplishments. Being an unwilling participant in this underhanded ambush of a set-up, he sees the conversation for what it really is: a checklist.   
  
 _My son has wholesome interests, demonstrates the qualities of a leader, and is going to be a successful lawyer for the federal government._  
  
 _Well_  my  _son is an athletic champion, can pass for straight, and has a promising future as a surgeon._  
  
 _Acceptable._  
  
 _Yes, meets our requirements._

A year or so ago, Sebastian would have been a much more active participant in the exchange. Would have delighted in meeting and exceeding Andrew’s parents’ ridiculous expectations. Would have preened and charmed and slipped his foot out of his shoe and toed Andrew’s cock under the table. Would have relished the opportunity to fuck an older and more experienced man back at Andrew’s superbly-run frat house. Maybe would have considered what their parents were so unsubtly suggesting: a match made in polo club heaven. So long as Andrew was okay with Grindr being an active part of their relationship.   
  
And from the obvious way he’s watching Sebastian slurp his bisque, Andrew probably has his phone pinging out his Grindr profile as they speak.   
  
Things might have been different, but now...now Sebastian is just tired. That his parents would arrange this lunch tells him just how lost his cause is. Hugh Smythe didn’t become one of the top criminal attorneys in the country because he’s an easy-going, understanding guy. He gets what he wants, and obviously, he wants a son with a respectable husband.   
  
At least Sebastian is getting his share of mouth orgasms out of the ordeal. When it comes to the table, he takes one bite of his milk-fed veal saltimbocca and nearly drops to a knee and proposes to it. Stunningly plated with wild mushrooms, pomme puree and port cippolini, Kurt would have squealed at the sight.   
  
Sebastian puts down his fork and digs his phone out of his pocket, taking a tasteful photo that also captures the ridiculous array of silverware at his place setting. He texts it to Kurt with the message:  _How’s your street dog lunch, fussy-face? I would kill a million baby cows myself to eat this everyday._  
  
He looks up from his phone to Andrew’s raised eyebrows, his father’s unamused stare, and his mother’s blush of mortification. The Portsmouth Club, jewel of the Upper East Side, where there is a server for every two diners and the prices aren’t even listed on the menu, doesn’t attract clientele who whip out their phones and snap photos of their entrees.   
  
Sebastian drops his phone in his lap and resumes eating unashamedly. “My bonded is a self-professed foodie,” he explains, winking at Andrew’s father obnoxiously.   
  
To his surprise Andrew’s father nods knowingly.   
  
“Ah, yes. My Niall has quite a sweet tooth. But he’s hopeless in the kitchen; our cook won’t even let him in.”   
  
Sebastian stares. Some beautiful Boy, a prisoner in Westchester, bonded to crave Andrew’s father’s big old fleshy face and fishy lips and arrogant way of addressing wait staff. Sebastian doubts that all the imported macarons the Boy wants makes up for that tragic fate.   
  
“You’re already bonded?” Andrew asks him interestedly.   
  
“Yes,” Sebastian answers shortly. He’s not about to give these idiots details so they can speak offhandedly about Kurt too. Only Sebastian gets to do that. 

“Nice. I have a Boy too - well, he’s ripening in time for my graduation.” Andrew thumbs discreetly through his Blackberry and holds it out to Sebastian. He takes it reluctantly. Andrew’s brought up a photo of a ruddy slip of a kid with sleek white-blonde hair. He’s posed on a emerald green chaise, looking back over his bare shoulder at the camera. He has doe ears just like Kurt’s poking out through his hair, and his big eyes are all seductive innocence and promise.   
  
“Swedish,” Andrew tells him as Sebastian hands the phone back. “They promised he would be fluent in English by the time he’s shipped over, but whatever, right? He only needs to know about three words and you can guess what those are, right? Ha ha!” Andrew chortles at his own joke.  
  
“Right,” Sebastian says dryly.  _Bend. Spread. Suck._    
  
Sebastian’s phone chimes quietly in his lap and he swipes open the reply from Kurt.  _Oh you fucker I’m so jealous YOU OWE ME willy just bit another kid going for the last spiderman wrist launcher thingy so we’re hiding from the kid’s mom in a dora playhouse and this is what my nightmares are made of_  
  
Sebastian orders both the Valrhona parfait  _and_  the deconstructed creme brulee for dessert and sends Kurt another photo.   
  
***  
  
The sedan ride back to Sebastian’s apartment is not enjoyable.   
  
“I’m very disappointed in your behavior, Sebastian,” his Dad says, apparently too disgusted to even look at him.   
  
“Stick to law, Dad. Cupid is not a good look for you.”   
  
“Oh, Sebastian!” his mother tisks, delicately putting her forehead in her hand, always careful not to mar her impeccable make-up. “Don’t be so dramatic. The Chapman’s are a lovely family and you ruined a perfectly friendly lunch with your pouting and your attitude. I’ve never been so embarrassed. You were so rude to that handsome Andrew! You know his cousin is the Dean of Medicine at Princeton. Those are the kind of connections you want to foster!”  
  
“That handsome Andrew was a total dick and it hurts that you think I couldn’t get into Princeton on my own merit. I’m not maintaining a 3.89 just to show off my report card, you know,” he grumbles, looking out the window.  
  
“You didn’t even give him a chance! You’ve always liked making new friends.”  
  
“I know you two lack the homosexual superpower of being able to sniff out herpes-riddled twunks, so you’ll have to take it from the only gay man in this car: Andrew Chapman is trash.”

“Oh, Sebastian!” his mother cries, horrified. “Hugh, say something!”   
  
His father finally turns from his own window and observes Sebastian over his glasses. Sebastian feels a twinge of fear in his gut. His father only gets this focused when he’s really pissed. He is also, unfortunately, the master of quiet, soul-crushing disappointment. Sebastian would take a yelling match with Burt Hummel over a calm inarguable lecture from his own father any day.   
  
“Your mother and I raised you with only the best opportunities and to see you so callously disregard this one is unbelievable.”   
  
There is sweat prickling under the arms of Sebastian’s suit jacket.   
  
“Here are our expectations for you: you are going to date other well-educated young men of good social standing who will support you through medical school and who would be strong candidates to start a family with. In addition, you’re going to conduct your bond in a manner befitting a Smythe. Privately, and with dignity.”  
  
Sebastian puts everything he has into holding eye-contact with his father. “Dad, listen. Kurt deserves more than just that. Our bond is different. And show me anyone who could support me in grad school better than Kurt-”  
  
His father holds up a finger for silence.   
  
“Your dependence on Kurt is unhealthy and unnatural. There is nothing you can do to change the fact he is a Boy, and always will be one. The next time we come to New York, I want to see a ring on that Boy’s thumb. You should have marked him as soon as the papers were signed, Sebastian. That is poor management on your part.”  
  
“He doesn’t need one, we don’t need to announce to the world that-”  
  
“Enough. Get the ring. Am I understood?”  
  
“Kurt isn’t just a-”  
  
“Understood?”   
  
Hugh Smythe gets what he wants. Sebastian slumps back, stares hard at the headrest of the seat in front of him.   
  
“Yeah, Dad. I get it,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the car. It feels like his parfait is going to come back up.  
  
Hugh sits back as well, his wide Smythe shoulders filling the entire seat.   
  
“Oh honey, you know you need to find someone else too,” his mother tells him hurriedly. “Kurt will always be in your life if you want him to be, but you need to find someone you can have a real partnership with, a true equal. That’s what love is about, being able to really share your life with another person. You’ll see.” She pats his arm and doesn’t seem to care that he doesn’t respond to any of her reassurances or romance advice for the rest of the car ride.   
  
***  
  
Sebastian’s subduedness seems to please his parents, and he even gets an arm-squeeze and a  _We’re proud of you, son_  from his father as they watch the driver make room for William’s suitcase in the back of the sedan.   
  
He hugs his mom back when she tearfully hangs from his neck, but his arms are heavy. It feels like he’s operating his own body from a remote location, disconnected and dazed.   
  
“Later, Willy. It’s been a slice, little brother,” he manages to say, giving William a lackluster high-five and a painless noogie.   
  
“Bastian!” he yells, running over to the side mirror of the car to put his hair back in order.  
  
Once they are all packed into the car and on their way to the airport, Sebastian regains a little of his former glory and takes the stairs up to their apartment two at a time.

Remnants of Hurricane William are scattered around their place; a plastic cup of juice and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, a jumble of DVD cases on the floor in front of the TV, fingerprints at Willy-height on the stainless steel of the fridge.   
  
Kurt’s head pops out of the bedroom. He’s got crazy-Kurt eyes, the kind he gets when Rachel bursts into random emotional solos, and his fingertips are white where he grips the doorframe.   
  
“Are they gone?” he stage whispers.  
  
“Gone, thank  _Christ_.”  
  
Kurt lets out a strangled cry and literally throws himself at Sebastian, hanging onto him like a kitten on a branch as Sebastian staggers back under his weight.  
  
He folds his forearms under Kurt’s ass, holding him up as they relish kissing as dirty and as long as they want to.  
  
This is all he wants. The first sweep of Kurt’s sweet, cunning tongue in his mouth, the squirming sling of Kurt’s thighs over his hips, and every doubt that his Dad planted evaporates. In the back of his mind he’s still aware of the ridiculousness of his desire, but it only serves to strengthen his resolve. Sebastian’s walking into loving Kurt Hummel with eyes wide open. His Dad, hell, his whole world, expects him to play out the marriage-house-kids-retirement-death plan with a standard model from the same mold Andrew Chapman was created from. Sebastian just wants Kurt to be the death of him.   
  
They fuck close and tight, chest-to-chest on the end of their bed, Kurt straddling his lap and letting Sebastian surge in short, deep thrusts up into him.  
  
“Let me hear you,” Sebastian growls against his lips. He’s using every part of his body to ground himself deeper in Kurt; his thighs burning, his arms tight around Kurt’s ribs, rocking the twitching clench of Kurt around his cock.   
  
“I got so used to...mmm..keeping quiet..,” Kurt moans. Kurt is manic about making sure William is asleep before he’ll even let Sebastian finger him under the covers.  
  
“Did you miss my dick? Were you thinking about it all day?” Sebastian prompts him, tipping Kurt’s head back by his hair. He feels the laugh in Kurt’s throat under his mouth.   
  
“Absolutely not. Except maybe to cut it off in punishment..oooh!”  
  
Sebastian scowls and pistons his cock up into Kurt even faster. Kurt’s nails dig into his back and Kurt’s knees clutch his sides, and Sebastian can feel the build of Kurt’s release because they are touching  _everywhere_ , pressed hard and slick together in a perfect moving knot of hot limbs. Sebastian comes in a searing rush of adrenaline, like he’s been pushed backwards off a cliff, stomach swooping, silent scream into the perfect pale skin of Kurt’s collarbone.   
  
It takes him a few minutes to catch his breath again, hands shaking as he pets the top of Kurt’s round little ass. He’s still tucked up inside Kurt’s feverish pussy, but he can feel the leak of come dribbling down between them, hot and sludgy.   
  
Kurt should be bitching about the mess they’re making on the duvet, but he’s still wrapped around Sebastian like a starfish, panting and mouthing the occasional kiss to the side of Sebastian’s neck, his hair.  
  
Sebastian could stay like this forever.   
  
When Kurt finally does lift his head, the sleepy, satiated look on his face is quickly replaced by one of astonishment. He unlocks one arm from around Sebastian and touches the the tear that broke free from Sebastian’s left eye.

“What is...did I hurt you?” Kurt asks, confused. Sebastian holds him in place when Kurt tries to get up, looking down between them anxiously.   
  
Sebastian wants to tell him. Wants to confess the whole miserable lunch, his father’s demands. Wants Kurt to tuck his hair back and smile and tell him it’ll be okay, that they can make up some really convincing douchebags for Sebastian to ‘date’ and can they go to Bulgari right now? Kurt knows exactly which ring he wants.  
  
He awkwardly wipes the tears away on Kurt’s bare white shoulder. He can’t burden Kurt with this crap too. Not when there isn’t anything Kurt can do about it. Can’t change that he was born beautiful and talented and bright. Can’t change that the rest of the world is only interested in what he can do from the waist down. Sebastian is on his own.  
  
“These are face leakings of joy. Let us celebrate the entire state of Pennsylvania between us and my family,” he sniffs.   
  
Kurt looks extremely skeptical, which is an adorable combination with his flushed cheeks and wild hair.   
  
“Uh, huh. I’m pretty happy about that too. But weeping? I didn’t even know you had tear ducts.” He cups Sebastian’s face in his hands, tilting it as though to see the phenomenon in better light. “Why are you upset? What’s going on? Did your Dad say something to you?” he asks, too clever for his own good.   
  
Sebastian kneads Kurt’s ass in his hands, leaning back to dislodge his face. He needs a distraction so he shifts his hips to squelch his softened cock in Kurt’s hole.  
  
“Can we not talk about my Dad while my dick is inside of you?”   
  
It works; Kurt makes a horrified face, scrunching his ridiculous nose, and starts climbing off of him. “Oh no, the bed,” he mutters, making another face at the wet spot. He looks totally ravished, sweat cooling in his throat and creamy jizz streaking down his thighs.  
  
“I’ll take care of it. Go get in the shower,” Sebastian tells him, slapping his flank.   
  
Kurt narrows his eyes in further suspicion at Sebastian’s generosity. Then he glowers.  
  
“Damn right you’re cleaning it up. And the rest of the place too. And you’re getting us tickets for Book of Mormon on Wednesday.”  
  
“ _Again?_ ”  
  
“Again. And that’s  _just_  for the veal.”  
  
“Fine. Go,” Sebastian sighs.   
  
Kurt stops at the doorway to the bathroom and looks back over his shoulder.   
  
“You’re coming too, right?” he asks, giving Sebastian an eyebrow. Insatiable.   
  
“Right behind you.”

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__


	9. Chapter 9

It takes Sebastian the entire summer to give Kurt his ring. 

Immediately following their visit, his mother peppers him with well-meaning emails. Filled with unsolicited and suspect dating advice, questions about each and every male friend he’s even casually mentioned, and links to large gaudy bonding rings that would sprain Kurt’s thumb. 

Sebastian suspects it’s his father’s voiced frustration directly to his mother that prompts the emails. Sebastian’s own communication with his father is free of any talk of Kurt. His father told him to put a ring on Kurt and start treating him like the Boy he is, and his father expects to be obeyed, no follow-up required. Story of Sebastian’s entire fear-based childhood. 

To appease his parents and get it over with, he plans a trip to a tourist-riddled Tiffany & Co. with Rachel Berry. 

Obviously, the stress was getting to him, because it had made perfect sense at the time: if Kurt has to wear a ring then Sebastian should do his best to gift Kurt with something that he might like, and presumably, as his best friend, Rachel would know what he likes best. 

Sebastian feels the first inklings of regret when she shows up in elbow-length gloves and an updo. And so he makes it through precisely 12 minutes of browsing with her obnoxious yammering at his elbow - 

“... wish you congratulations on making the best decision of your life, Sebastian. Which is, of course, having me pick out Kurt’s ring. Now he may have hinted at the bold grandeur of Elizabeth Taylor’s taste, but I assure you that Kurt would be unhappy with anything less timeless than a replica of the canary diamond King Edward VIII gave his Boy, Wallace. Alternatively, you might consider a sampling from Dior’s Coffret De Victoire collection, which might be a little out of your price range but is a piece that Kurt would be able to showcase when attending red-carpet events, for example, my first feature film debut...”

\- before he lunges away from the counter, barely restrains himself from pushing Rachel Berry in the face, yells, “Nope!” and walks out of the building. 

He ends up making an appointment at Cartier, alone, where he is politely assisted by a personal shopper who lets him browse and handle nearly every bond ring in the showroom. It takes him much longer than he had anticipated, imagining Kurt’s response to each ring. Sebastian thinks he might appreciate the diamond-studded panther head ring as a statement piece, but could he wear it everyday? Or the huge square-cut aquamarine that would double as a defensive weapon. It matches Kurt’s eyes; would an eye-matching ring be too on the nose? Would Kurt mock it and hand it back, shooing Sebastian back to the store? 

Sebastian lingers over a raw gold ring with a cluster of cabochon emeralds. For good reason it reminds him of Kurt: unconventional, striking, strangely beautiful. It would be thick and heavy on his thumb, as bonding rings traditionally are, but Kurt would pull it off like a daring extension of his own hand.

He thinks about snapping a few photos and texting them to Kurt, asking him for a little direction. But since he’s so shitty at saying it out loud, he needs this ring, this entire gesture of giving it to Kurt, to speak for him. To say: _You are all I want. You are the motivation for everything I do. You mean more to me than anyone could guess just by looking at this ring._ And texting Kurt options like a lunch order is not how Sebastian wants to demonstrate his sincerity. 

He ends up nestling the emerald cluster back into its tray, reluctant to abandon such a unique piece but inspired by his own ridiculous sentimentality to go with something even more risque. 

He keeps the sentiments firmly behind his teeth and not vomited out all over his personal shopper, even though she looks to be choking with shock at his final choice, barely managing her professional cool as she takes his credit card. 

He walks all the way back uptown, feeling strangely calm and content about the little velvet Cartier pouch in his pocket. He sticks his hand in his pocket at nearly every light, fingering the shapes, knowing that Kurt is either going to love it or else absolutely hate it. And then shut his legs like a bear trap. 

But the possibility of two extreme reactions is better than worrying about any additional, unpredictable, grey area reactions due to Sebastian’s taste in jewels, so Sebastian feels pretty good about it. 

Kurt had been throwing himself from the bed to the kitchen and then back again for the past week, cursing the narrow-mindedness of casting directors and the genetic advantage Rachel Berry has being hatched from Shelby Corcoran. Sebastian figures giving him the ring will be a nice distraction from obsessively clutching his phone, waiting for summer gig callbacks. 

“I can’t sell tickets all summer while Rachel understudies on Broadway. I will use the tickets to slit my own wrists,” Kurt had grumbled into Sebastian’s hip, before picking himself off the bed and throwing himself to the fridge to swill more Diet Coke. 

When Kurt had thrown himself back to the bed, face once again squashed into Sebastian’s leg as he studied, Sebastian had been careful _not_ to suggest that Kurt didn’t need to get a menial job if he didn’t get a role. He’d just petted Kurt’s neglected hair, offered insults for Rachel Berry’s over-emotional delivery techniques, and let Kurt grumble.

When Rachel had announced her big break, hair tossing and hands jazzing, Kurt had been a study of gracious support. Sebastian was grudgingly impressed that Kurt kept his tragic wailing to the privacy of their apartment, and was maybe a little honored that Sebastian was the only one Kurt trusted his ugly pout face with. 

But when he gets home from ring shopping, Kurt is out of bed and up on the couch, belting out _Seasons of Love_ and high-kicking across the cushions. 

“Let me guess,” Sebastian says, closing the door behind himself. “You got a callback.” 

“I got more than that...I got booked!” Kurt shrieks, coming off the couch like a diving board and grabbing Sebastian’s hands, pulling him into a twirl. “You’re looking at the new Angel for a four-week revival run of Rent!”

Sebastian’s jaw drops. That’s fucking amazing. He knows Kurt is good, better than good, but leads are not typically handed out to 18-year-old Boys from Ohio, at least not in an actor-saturated theater hub like New York.

“What...that’s fucking. Amazing. What theater?!” 

“Don’t look so surprised! And it’s off-Broadway. But whatever, it’s The Public; it’s about as awesomely off-Broadway as you can get.” He lets go of Sebastian’s hands and cups Sebastian’s face, suddenly grave. “Sebastian. Sebastian. They cast Ryan Kwanten as Roger. I might actually _touch him_.” 

Sebastian laughs, cups Kurt’s face in return, and pulls him in for a kiss. “Congrats, fussy. I’m not surprised at all.” 

Kurt squirms away, still grinning like a lottery-winner, all teeth and scrunchy eyes. “Oh my god, I have to call my Dad!”

Sebastian hides the velvet pouch with his purchase in a folded pair of his plaid boxer shorts, confident that Kurt will never touch them. He’s not about to try and top this momentous news. Especially not when Blaine calls after seeing Kurt’s announcement post on Facebook. 

Stupid _Blaine_. Sebastian can’t begrudge Kurt rebuilding his friendship with Blaine, but he certainly doesn’t like being witness to it. Kurt’s earnest questions, his half-teasing responses. Then an unsure frown revealing that Kurt still doesn’t know if he’s allowed to tease Blaine like he used to. Sebastian doesn’t have to enjoy listening to his bonded carefully choose his words, listen without buffing his nails or reorganizing their pantry at the same time. Just complete focus for Blaine on the other end of the line, Kurt’s responses full of sincere giggles. 

And Sebastian especially can’t deal with Kurt’s quiet weirdness after he hangs up. The way he’ll stare into corners of the room and go to bed early. Not without baiting Kurt into a fight. 

So when Blaine calls in his congratulations, his dumb muppet voice loud and genuinely excited over the line, Sebastian leaves a note in the kitchen and goes to the gym to be that loud, foot-slapping guy on the treadmill. 

***

Time and opportunity get away from him as Kurt commits himself to Rent rehearsals and Sebastian gets sucked into his lab assistant job at a hospital in Queens. It’s long, thankless hours, his fellow interns are hyper-competitive schemers, his boss is an angry lesbian who hates Sebastian at first sight, and the commute is a 45-minute train adventure offering up New York’s finest masterbating hobos on a daily basis. 

It’s not part of the glamorous vision Sebastian had for his career as a doctor, but it’s a necessary evil that will look superb on his med school applications and is a stepping stone to something more hands-on next summer. That doesn’t make him any less exhausted and embittered at the end of each day.

Their evenings all start looking the same: ordering in, cranking the AC, Sebastian trapping Kurt and whining until Kurt folds and gives him a back-rub to ease the tension of being permanently hunched over a microscope. 

They find the perfect solution in Sebastian sitting propped against Kurt, so Kurt can work his shoulders while Sebastian pulls Kurt’s feet into his lap, digging his thumbs into Kurt’s sore arches and calves. Sebastian bitches about work while Kurt raves about the theater company, about working with a director who chose actors to rejuvenate the play, and about how much the director looooves Kurt. 

Sometimes Sebastian will close his eyes and let Kurt natter, let the thrum of Kurt’s chest under his back and Kurt’s clever fingers on his neck lull him into a nap. Sometimes he’ll turn over and quiet Kurt with a kiss, use his mouth to convince Kurt to take his pants off and wrap his legs around Sebastian’s head. 

Burt and Carole come and stay for a week during the revival run, and Sebastian goes with them to every show. It’s all kinds of boring and awkward, but Carole makes up for Burt’s arm-crossing and unimpressed Hummel glares with her blunt humor and genuine interest in Sebastian. 

She seldom asks him about classes or diving club or his plans for graduate school. Refreshingly, she talks to him like an adult, quick to commiserate with him about the sorry state of public hospital bureaucracy. 

One night, splitting a bottle of Pinot at a wine bar around the corner from the theater while waiting for Kurt, she even confesses to him her fears for Finn being deployed to the Sahara. 

“He’s too loyal for his own good,” she sighs, fingering the rim of her wine glass. 

Burt leans back, puts an arm over the back of her chair. “Loyalty is valuable in a soldier. Finn is a good soldier,” he says resolutely. Carole purses her lips, not swayed by Burt’s Congressman voice of confidence. 

“It’ll just be a distraction for him. Finn doesn’t have the capacity to carry out orders _and_ look out for his friends.”

“I’ve got to say, Carole. You’re not exactly the poster mother for unconditional support,” Sebastian remarks with a snort. 

Burt’s nostrils flare in offence but before he can say anything Carole answers Sebastian with a chuckle of her own.

“I’ll support Finn in anything he does, but I’m allowed to have my doubts. I know my son better than anyone and being afraid that his love and passion for his friends is going to get him shot, or worse, is legitimate.” 

There is no condescension in her tone, only honest fear, and Sebastian kind of loves her for it. Loves that she probably stands up for Kurt the same way, for the person he so fearlessly is. 

Kurt is flawless on stage. 

But it’s hard watching him die every performance, the intensity and sultry, tragic spin he gives to Angel making each new audience fall in love with her. Sebastian sees the show 18 times, has nearly all the lines for every character memorized, but he’s still enchanted by each one of Kurt’s performances, Kurt effortlessly owning the stage in every group number. 

The reviews for the production aren’t raving; there are too many criticisms about its departure from the original Broadway run of Rent. But Kurt gets special mention in a number of reviews, and even has the lackluster article from the NY Times professionally mounted and framed because it says, 

_“In a patchwork of wildly uneven talents, newcomer and NYADA rising star Kurt Hummel brings an endearing wit, style and eccentricity to the role of Angel Dumott Schunard. A stand-out, polished performance, Hummel is hot on our radar.”_

***

Kurt absolutely refuses to have sex with Burt in their apartment (even though he’s totally okay with doing it in the dressing room he shares with four other performers _and_ in several Starbucks bathrooms) so when the show wraps and the Hummel’s return to Ohio, Sebastian plans a Very Special Weekend of Sex, with your hosts, Sebastian Smythe and Kurt Hummel. 

Kurt looks down at the manilla envelope Sebastian hands him, the name of the event sharpied on the front and then back up at Sebastian, eyebrow raised. 

“There had better not be any photos in here,” he warns Sebastian. 

“While photos of Finn in homoerotic combat gear are inspiring to my inner photoshopper, no. Just open it.” 

Kurt pulls out a flight confirmation to LA and two floor tickets for Lady Gaga’s Gory Glory tour. He doesn’t say anything, just blinks rapidly down at the papers in his hands, like he can’t believe what he’s holding. 

“Soooo, should I find someone else to go?” Sebastian jokes uneasily when Kurt still hasn’t said anything. 

“What?...no! No! What! Sebastian, you’re taking me to LA?” Kurt says, hushed, like if he says it too loud the possibility will disappear. 

“Yes?”

“And we’re going to see Lady Gaga?” he whispers urgently. 

“Yes?” 

“And you planned this yourself?” 

“I work the internet machine good,” Sebastian replies sarcastically. 

Kurt still looks gobsmacked and so Sebastian kisses his confused frown. “Is this okay?” he asks against Kurt’s forehead.

“Yes. Oh my _god_ , yes. Thank you. Thank you, thank you,” Kurt surges up, hand on Sebastian’s face, and kisses him cross-eyed. Sebastian is sure they’re about to get a head start on the sex portion of the Very Special Weekend but Kurt is too eager to start pulling outfits to pack for their trip.

Sebastian stashes the tiny velvet bag in his carry-on, sure that putting it in his suitcase will tempt the fates into losing his luggage. To distract Kurt from maybe seeing the x-ray of his bag in the security line he plans to bluff an Anne Hathaway sighting. Fortunately, Kurt is so distraught at the indignity of having to strip down to his shorts and t-shirt, (boots, studded vest, scarf and fedora all in a plastic bucket) he doesn’t even look, too busy hugging his arms with his head high in disdain and unconsciously cleaving to Sebastian.

In Sebastian’s mind the timing is perfect: he’ll butter Kurt up with some shopping, then lunch with Kurt’s sassy black hag, maybe go to the beach, attempt the Guggenheim but probably end up doing more shopping, a fabulous meal, the concert, kinky post-Gaga sex, and then, bam! Ring time. Hopefully followed by even kinkier sex.

Everything goes mostly to plan, but Sebastian did not take into account the proliferation of heart-stoppingly gorgeous Boys traipsing around LA hotspots, each of them sporting stunning works of art on their thumbs.

Sebastian doesn’t doubt himself, he’s not even sure what that feeling is. But he can’t ignore the way Kurt’s eyes follow the Boys as they pass, his head Hummel-high. Every Boy they see is just as coiffed and polished as Kurt, but they also have an ethereal quality, like little treasured nymphs flashing precious stones from their thumbs. Not quite human, their feet not quite touching the ground. That said, none of them look like they’d be much competition in a battle of wits and intellect either. Beautiful, smooth, youthful faces like Kurt’s, but none of his impish humor or his judgy sarcasm.

“Now that’s a little extravagant,” Sebastian can’t hold himself back from remarking when they see a perfectly tanned Boy in a diaphanous silk jumper gracefully trailing a couple in La Brea. His ring is so big and so encrusted with diamonds, his thumb is almost invisible. 

“Are you talking about the ring or making a Boy follow you around half-naked?” Kurt asks archly.

“You already know my thoughts on your extraneous clothing,” Sebastian says. “I’m very pro-naked, half or even less. I’m talking about the ring. He’s basically lost all use of that hand.” 

Kurt does that thing where he second-takes a person but it just looks like he’s gracing the world behind him with his gaze. It’s a neat trick. 

“The price one pays for fashion. That’s pre-death McQueen. Iconic,” Kurt says shortly, turning back around, but not looking at Sebastian. The next shop they go into Kurt unlaces their fingers to pick through a rack and he doesn’t find Sebastian’s hand again.

The concert is mind-blowing, even by Sebastian’s high standards. They are out of their seats by the first number and with every costume change Kurt clings to Sebastian’s arm and squeals in his ear. They single-serving befriend the gay-gle of guys in their row, and Sebastian only has to get snappy once when a tall, black-haired stunner hugs Kurt in the throws of cheering and then keeps his hand on Kurt’s waist. 

Kurt rolls his eyes and bobs up to kiss Sebastian’s cheek consolingly before going right back to flirting and dancing with the rest of the gaygle. 

They love him, of course, this kid who sings with just as much gusto as Gaga, tight red metallic pants, platform boots, and a bodysuit that he hand-painted every inch of with a close-up of Lady Gaga’s face. They love Sebastian too, who had been manipulated into being dressed as Alexander Skarsgard from the Paparazzi video, suspenders and all. Kurt is proud of his detailed work, walking though the venue with one hand in the crook of Sebastian’s elbow, the other hand on Sebastian’s chest.

Despite the handsiness, Sebastian lets the gays convince them to go out clubbing after the concert, and so when they roll into the hotel at 3:30am, they are both too drunk and too exhausted to even undress, let alone have Very Special Sex.

The next morning they huddle under an umbrella by the hotel pool, nibbling on fruit and treating their hangovers with red wine Caesars.

“The buzzing in my ears sounds like Marry the Night, so I don’t even care,” Sebastian sighs into his arm. It’s better when there is something supporting his head. Much better. 

“That was the single greatest night of my life. And I’ve sung karaoke with Ryan Kwanten,” Kurt rasps. Sebastian feels Kurt’s fingers pat his cowlick down. “Thank you,” he adds. 

Sebastian turns his head, nose still squashed into his arm, and observes Kurt, curled in his chair, knees to chin. He’s in just a striped tanktop and a sinfully short pair of swim trunks. He’s pale and greenish, squinting behind his huge sunglasses, and he’s still the most gorgeous creature beside the pool. “You liked it?” he confirms. 

Kurt dimples back at him fondly, taking a careful sip of his Caesar before answering. 

“Yeah. Put a big glittery checkmark next to that item on my bucket list.” He swipes a hungover-looking checkmark in the air for emphasis. “But also...I didn’t know I needed this.”

“Needed to get ridiculously drunk and dance like no one is watching but you’re still bad at it?”

“You’re one to talk, moves-like-Jagger. Are you sore? From the seizuring?” Kurt snarks. “No. What I didn’t know I needed was for the Mother Monster to remind me of a few things.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that? You were born this way?” 

“As a matter of fact, yes, smartass,” Kurt snarks. “That. And that I can do pretty much whatever I want to with a little faith and hard work. And the importance of personal branding, of course.” 

Sebastian doesn’t go a day without being inspired by what Kurt can do with his work ethic and self-confidence. It doesn’t seem fair that Kurt has to inspire himself too.

“I can’t tell, are you talking about Lady Gaga or Madonna?” Sebastian smirks, knowing it will set Kurt off. It does, and Sebastian drifts in and out of thought to the sound of Kurt’s indignant lecture on the merits of Gaga vs. Madonna. 

What Sebastian hears is that he inadvertently re-kindled Kurt’s fierce independence and pride in being Kurt Hummel, star of stage and screen first. Boy owned by Sebastian Smythe second. Or probably much further down on the list.

So the little velvet bag stays hidden in his carry-on, and Kurt slaps Sebastian’s chest with the back of his hand when Sebastian tries the Anne Hathaway trick in airport security. He’d been bitterly disappointed to go the entire weekend without a celebrity sighting. But at least he doesn’t see Sebastian’s bag in the x-ray, the shape hard and clear among Sebastian’s electronics on the screen.


	10. Chapter 10

Back in New York they return to their busy routine: Sebastian in the stark fluorescent lights of the lab, and Kurt workshopping with the Kensington Players. They make it work through an unspoken agreement to text their geographical destinations in case food and sex can be consumed together at any point during the day. Sometimes it works out and sometimes Sebastian won’t see Kurt until he crawls clean and sleepy into bed behind him, kissing his cheek so Sebastian will turn over and spoon up around him.

And so Sebastian doesn’t attempt another gifting until Kurt stumbles into their apartment after a late night of texting silence, dropping his man purse and falling to his knees in their tiny front entry. 

“Jesus Kurt, are you okay? What happened? Why aren’t you answering my calls?” Sebastian demands, trying to be gentle as he hauls Kurt up. Kurt’s button-up is sweat-soaked in deep Us over his chest and back, and his hair is a riot over his pink, sweaty face. One dreamy, dazed look up at him and Sebastian doesn’t have to ask any more questions. He’s never seen Kurt in heat this bad. 

“My phone...oh...I dropped it..I think. Please, ‘bastian,” he pants, his fingers clawing at Sebastian like a kitten trying to escape a box. 

“Yes, okay, yeah, just let me...” Sebastian leans Kurt up against the door, hurrying to get Kurt’s shorts and damp briefs down over his gladiator sandals. Getting his own jeans off is hampered by Kurt meowling at the feel of air over his swollen pussy, twisting and trying to grind into Sebastian’s half-bared leg. 

“Alright fussy, you’ve got to hold on just another second,” Sebastian admonishes him distractedly, shoving his jeans down and kicking them off as Kurt mauls his neck and keeps trying to shove his hips into Sebastian. 

“Here, here, come on, up,” Sebastian tells him, making the executive decision to skip the trip to the bedroom and just fuck Kurt right there.

Kurt scrambles up into his arms, letting Sebastian shift and brace him against the door, locking his legs around Sebastian’s waist with renewed strength. 

“‘bastian, please, please, fuck me, I need you to fuck me,” Kurt moans to his jaw, sucking what will definitely be hickies into the underside of it. 

Sebastian doesn’t even care right now, all his energy dedicated to getting Kurt’s ass up at the right height so Sebastian can rub his half-hard dick into the slickness of Kurt’s folds. 

Kurt is sopping wet, and Sebastian’s slick slides send him shuddering with ecstasy. He rocks his ass in Sebastian’s hands for more friction, choking out primal little cries against Sebastian’s cheek. 

It doesn’t take long for Sebastian to get fully hard, and as soon as he can, he pushes his cock into Kurt, capturing Kurt’s scream of relief with his mouth. 

Kurt’s heels bang against Sebastian’s ass with the violence of his thrusts, but no matter how hard or how fast he goes, Kurt pants for _more, harder, please._

Sebastian complies as best he can, going out of his own mind at the way Kurt convulses in his arms, coming again and again, over and over, his body dragging them both through the throws of a heat Sebastian can taste in every lick of sweat he drinks off of Kurt’s throat. 

“God, Sebastian, I want...I love, _please_ ,” Kurt weeps deliriously, and Sebastian knows Kurt has no idea what he’s saying, that he’s barely himself when he’s at the peak of a heat. But the words still make Sebastian come like a stallion, slamming Kurt into the door, once, twice, again and one more time, great ripping, unstoppable groans pouring out of him.

He drops Kurt to his feet, unsteady and dazed like a new-born colt. Sebastian quickly turns him around and slams into Kurt again from behind, one hand strapped tight around Kurt’s chest and the other working Kurt’s clit in soft little rubs that have Kurt shrieking and slapping the door like he wants to get out.

To avoid the neighbors calling the cops, Sebastian pulls Kurt down to the hardwood floor, sweeping shoes out of the way enough to lay down and get Kurt to ride him backwards, Kurt’s ass bobbing beautifully as his pussy swallows Sebastian’s dick. Sebastian palms his sides, his ass, cups and rubs his thighs, and Kurt throws his head back, too gone to smile, but the look of pure bliss on his face tells Sebastian enough. 

To draw it out, Sebastian stops him a couple of times, pushes Kurt forward so he’s on his hands and knees, the vista of his swollen, shiny pussy on display. It makes Sebastian groan and touch, thumbing at Kurt’s engorged clit, peaking and bare. He’s already starting to gape, Sebastian’s come and Kurt’s own juices smeared thickly around his entrance. Sebastian slides his fingers into it, two, then three, rubbing them in the deep mysterious heat of Kurt’s hole. 

He gets his pinkie finger in there too, and Kurt cries out, but he cries out again in panic when Sebastian goes to remove them. So Sebastian tucks his fingers all in as far as they can go, Kurt’s hole taking almost his whole hand, pink and pulsing. Sebastian could come at the sight, so he pulls them back out again and maneuvers Kurt back onto his cock. 

Sebastian takes him a third time, Kurt small and wriggling between Sebastian and the floor. Sebastian’s jeans under Kurt’s head and Sebastian’s mouth bent to Kurt’s nipples, which tend to swell and get tender too during his most frenzied heats.

Once Kurt’s a little more human, Sebastian runs a cool bath for him, dumping him in and kneeling by the side of the tub to watch Kurt shakily mop at himself. He makes Kurt drink water and laughs when Kurt takes the third glass Sebastian hands him and dumps it over his own head.

Tapped out himself, Sebastian can clinically observe the next wave of the heat as it consumes Kurt. From this vantage point he has to give Kurt more credit for the control he _does_ have. 

It starts with his heart rate, speeding to beat rabbit-fast at his wrists and sending a deep flush over his chest and face. With it, his breathing speeds up, like Kurt’s lungs have completely lost their capacity to hold oxygen. Then the shaking, every part of him, from fingertips to his whole torso quivering as his body demands more dominance, to be filled and tamed. Watching him tugs at Sebastian’s chest, makes Sebastian want to climb into the bathtub too, hold Kurt close and tight like Sebastian can leach some of the crazed lust into himself, give Kurt some opportunity to think for himself again.

Instead he does the only thing that actually helps: thumbs at the drops of water on Kurt’s blazing cheek with one hand, reaches the other down between Kurt’s legs to finger him open again under water. Kurt comes kicking and crying out, sloshing water out of the tub and across the bathroom floor before nearly passing out.

“God-fucking-damnit, fussy!” Sebastian swears, and hauls a limp Kurt back out of the tub before he drowns, dragging him, still wet, to the bed. 

Kurt can only blink dreamily up at him, gives no answer when Sebastian asks him if it’s getting better or worse, just paws tiredly at Sebastian’s legs, as if to drag him into bed too. 

Sebastian tugs the covers down and rolls Kurt into his side of the bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin and checking his breathing. Then he retreats back to the bathroom to shower and soak up the majority of the water from the tiled floor.

He goes ahead and leaves a voicemail at work, calling in sick for the next day. Then he googles the Kensington Players and leaves another message at their box office on behalf of Kurt, hoping it will get to the right person. 

He makes a protein shake, enough for Kurt too if he wakes up, and settles down in bed with his laptop, conserving his strength and looking for any additional treatments he can give Kurt for a The Rapture-level heat. As usual, he only finds a minimum of recommendations - _sleep, hydration_ \- among the scores of articles that praise the vivacity and flexibility of a Boy in heat. 

And so he watches Kurt sleep and keeps water by the bed. What else can he do. 

Sebastian wakes up the next day to his morning wood fully sheathed in Kurt, Kurt already mindlessly shoving himself back on his cock, kneeling over Sebastian, mouth all over Sebastian’s chest. 

“Fuuuuck,” he gasps, hugging the soft crush of Kurt’s arms to himself and rolling them both over to pump into Kurt the way he needs it. Kurt is so out of it that he eats up Sebastian’s kisses, tongue and all, uncaring of morning breath in his primitive state. 

He manages to get more water into Kurt, and even a few graham crackers. He’s like a child, shaking his head and getting angry and stompy when Sebastian tries pushing another cracker against his closed lips. 

“No, I don’t want any. Stop it, Dr. Smythe,” he bitches breathlessly, tugging at Sebastian’s waistband for what he really wants. Sebastian complies, bending warily to fill his bonded again.

Sebastian can’t say he ever gets sick of the sex, but come on, he’s still a human man and there is only so much he can physically do. The mind is willing and all that, how could it not be with Kurt so leopard-like and needy, god, no better porn could possibly exist. But Sebastian’s balls ache at the thought of coming again, and even his back is sore from all the physical labor. 

So that afternoon Sebastian arranges them in bed, TV on low, and lets Kurt rest his head in Sebastian’s lap. Kurt is naked, too hot and fidgety to deal with that much constriction, so Sebastian rubs his bare side and tummy like a giant house pet.

They make it through half an episode of Breaking Bad before Kurt sleepily rolls over and buries his nose in the crease of Sebastian’s leg to his crotch. He takes big, open-mouthed breaths, fingers creeping down between his own legs. 

Sebastian cups the back of Kurt’s head, petting gently. “Do you like that?” he asks, Kurt’s little frown giving Sebastian one of his own. Kurt looks like he intends to eat Sebastian’s sweatpants right off of him. 

“Mmm,” Kurt grunts softly in reply, nuzzling into Sebastian’s balls through the cotton. Against the laws of physics and nature and god, Sebastian is getting hard again. 

Kurt keeps snuffling, his lashes sweet against his flushed cheek. Sebastian tries to subtly re-settle his half-hard penis so it doesn’t poke Kurt in the eye or something and Kurt’s questing mouth catches at his hand, kissing his fingers and sucking softly at the knuckle of his middle finger. 

“Oh,” Sebastian gasps and Kurt murmurs unintelligibly in reply, so Sebastian lets him keep sucking.

“Do you want it, fussy?” he whispers, rubbing the knuckle along Kurt’s wet lip. 

Kurt releases his knuckle with a moist sound and opens his eyes a little, a peek of blue under his lashes. If his head wasn’t nestled into Sebastian’s lap, Sebastian might not have felt his tiny nod, the hum of consent in his throat. 

Kurt’s quickening breath huffs out onto his cock as Sebastian lifts it out of his sweatpants, slow and careful. He tucks the waistband neatly under his balls, practically serving up his half-hard cock on a grey cotton platter. 

Kurt moans, his neck stretching beautifully, the line of his jaw sharp and defined as he slips Sebastian into his mouth. 

Sebastian’s hands tremble as he gently pushes the hair back from Kurt’s face, watches Kurt’s mouth move, his brain trying to prove to him that _yes_ , this incredible, warm, soft suckling feeling on his dick _is_ Kurt’s mouth. 

The mattress tremors underneath them and Sebastian looks over to see Kurt’s hands tucked into the V of his cunt, his fingers furiously rubbing at himself while his mouth and nose are full of Sebastian. 

“Oh Jesus,” Sebastian chokes, overwhelmed with lust while his body tries valiantly to regroup and fails. 

It’s probably for the best, he thinks miserably. Kurt looks so content, only half as anxious as he was without Sebastian’s penis completely engulfed in his mouth, making his lips stretch and his cheek bulge, his nose pressed tight to the thatch of Sebastian’s pubic hair. 

Sebastian keeps one hand on Kurt’s head, slides the other one down to rest low on his abdomen between Kurt’s arms, happy to take over if Kurt wants. But Kurt just keeps worming his fingers in himself, his mouth tender and tongue slow on Sebastian’s penis as Kurt comes shivering yet again. 

When Kurt finally lets his cock slip from his mouth, Sebastian tucks it back into his sweatpants, watching Kurt’s dreamy, happy face. Then he shuffles down the bed and rests his head on the pillow, tucking Kurt’s face into his armpit when he whines in protest. 

By that evening Sebastian has sufficiently recovered to fuck Kurt three more times; twice in the bed, Kurt vocal and pushier, and then again in the closet to get Kurt through an aftershock.

Afterwards, they lay side-by-side in the walk-in, surrounded by the spill of Kurt’s winter sweaters and ponchos, knocked off their shelves in the ruckus.

Kurt’s shoulder nudges into his companionably. 

“So, that was a lot of sex,” he remarks, letting out a deep breath. Understatement.

“Was it? I went numb from the waist down about eight hours ago.”

Kurt chuckles. “I think we need to replenish our electrolytes,” he says idly, making no move to get up. 

“Electrolytes are a marketing gimmick. You need actual nourishment. Water, vitamins, salt,” Sebastian corrects him, not moving either.

“Go get me some Gatorade?”

“You do not need chemicals in sugar water, Kurt.” 

“The TV says I do,” Kurt needles him, probably on purpose. Hell, Kurt is more health-conscience than Sebastian is. Kurt’s fingers blindly make grabby motions on Sebastian’s arm. “Okay, go get us some coconut water.”

“Go make us some dinner and I’ll go get your ridiculously over-priced weed water.”

“Fine, just get me off the floor,” Kurt agrees, making Sebastian smile at his negotiation techniques. 

Sebastian finds Kurt’s phone, spilled out of his bag in the front entry, the battery long dead. He plugs it into their charging dock and runs down to the family-run deli on the corner as ordered.

Kurt splits and toasts a half-stale loaf of french bread and then smothers it with goat cheese, pancetta, his homemade bruschetta and a quick balsamic reduction. Sebastian inhales it, eating Kurt’s crusts too. Kurt watches him, amused, lips shiny from olive oil wrapped around the straw of his coconut water. He looks tired and stretched and right where he belongs, the warm lights of the kitchen picking out red highlights in his tousled hair.

Sebastian is two seconds away from sneaking into the bedroom to get the velvet pouch when Kurt’s phone pings, recharged and messages waiting. 

“My phone!” Kurt gasps in relief, popping up and scrolling through his missed texts. 

“That will be the billion messages I left you yesterday. Way to use modern technology, dummy. I could have picked you up,” Sebastian tells him, turning to hunt through the pantry for something sweet for dessert.

“Oh crap,” Kurt mutters, ignoring Sebastian and holding the phone to his ear. “Mercedes, ma belle! I am so, so sorry. My phone died. What’s going on? ...He _didn’t_. Oh you have got to be _kidding_ me...”

Kurt gives Sebastian a sad side-smile and points to the phone at his ear, like maybe he regrets having to camp out on the balcony to tend to his flock of flakey performer friends instead of going back to bed with Sebastian. For that Sebastian hangs out the balcony window and hands Kurt a Diet Coke to keep his strength up for the epic gossip session ahead of him. 

In return, Kurt gives him a look of gratitude so vibrant, some might interpret it as love. Certainly not Sebastian. He cleans up the kitchen while Kurt hmms and gasps sympathetically just outside, and the little velvet Cartier bag stays in his underwear drawer. 

***

The Labor Day long weekend sees them on a plane back to Ohio. Sebastian brings the velvet bag just in case he has to toss the ring on Kurt’s thumb, but he doesn’t anticipate his Father seeing Kurt at all for the visit. He drops Kurt off at his parent’s house, giving Carole a quick hug and Burt an awkward, sloppy salute before driving back to his parent’s acreage outside of Gary. 

That night, even full of barbecue, his Grandpa’s apple cider, an overdose of Willy time, and too much NCAA football, Sebastian can’t sleep. He rolls around his bed, harder than their mattress in Manhattan, too cold with the air conditioner going and no Kurt breathing quietly under his arm. At 1:30am he texts Kurt, 

_Ohio smells weird. Too much nature. I need smog and a wall of sound to put me to sleep now, apparently._

to see if Kurt is still awake too. When he doesn’t get a reply he steals a Lunesta from his mother’s medicine cabinet. He wakes up again eight hours later, groggy and stumbling, finds Kurt’s reply, and smiles. 

_Tell me about it carole had to give me half an ambien this place is full of birds and squirrels telling me to burn things_

Sebastian does his best to distract himself, leaving his phone in his room and throwing himself into family activities. And yet, he still finds himself making excuses to pop back upstairs: to grab a sweater, to fetch the stash of Slovakian absinthe he booted from New York for his cousin Lauren, to hide from Willy in the lamest game of hide-and-seek he’s ever been puppy-eyed into. And every time, he’s drawn to his phone to text Kurt. 

[1:52PM] Sebastian: _My cousin Philip is dating a girl named Shannon Harting. Her email is SHARTING@gmail.com. Do with this information what you will._

[1:53PM] Kurt: _I’ve located her parents a bitch-slap-o-gram is being delivered to their house, HONESTLY_

[3:04PM] Sebastian: _Willy says ‘hi’ and that he misses you and your ‘pony rides’. What sick shit have you been teaching my brother?_

[3:09PM] Kurt: _You might be surprised to know that a pony ride involves no livestock at all but it does involve anal he had to learn sometime_

[6:19PM] Sebastian: _I didn’t actually miss you until this text. Now I really miss you. Normal people are boring._

[6:32PM] Kurt: _I would not be averse to seeing you before Monday_

[6:50PM] Sebastian: _Tonight?_

[6:51PM] Kurt: _Txt me when you leave_

Sebastian takes off right after demolishing two pieces of rhubarb pie, his mother’s white Porsche Cayenne making short work of the trip. As he gets closer to Lima he feels better; the itchy, claustrophobic feeling that had been growing imperceptibly since he dropped off Kurt whipping away in the wind on the highway.

Kurt is waiting for Sebastian on the front step of his father’s house, and he all but runs to the car as Sebastian pulls up. 

“Hey,” he grins, leaning across the console and meeting Sebastian’s kiss. They kiss for so long Sebastian has to put the car into park because his foot gets tired on the brake. He doesn’t care, he has Kurt’s lips and Kurt’s delighted sighs, and Kurt’s cheeks, warm and sun-freckled under his hands. 

“So you missed me, huh?” Kurt smiles, nipping Sebastian’s kiss-swollen lip.

“Just your bitching. You missed me.” 

“Just your body. Let’s go.” 

Kurt directs them to the empty parking lot of William McKinley. They crank the radio and clamor into the back seat of the Cayenne, Sebastian giving Kurt an unhelpful push to his ass. Then in a truly teenage move they set the car a rockin’, Kurt snorting as Sebastian wastes no time, crawling under Kurt’s pants, stuck around his boots. 

He pounds into Kurt so hard Kurt has to put his hands up to avoid having his head knocked into the side door. None the less, Kurt moans and bucks his hips to meet each thrust, kissing Sebastian just as frantically. 

By the time they finish manically reuniting after a whopping 35 hours apart, the night has cooled and all the Cayenne’s windows are steamed white. Sebastian lays where he collapsed, head under Kurt’s chin, hands tucked up under Kurt’s shoulders snugly. 

“I did, you know,” Kurt whispers, barely audible over the sound of some slow, whiny Adele shit on the radio. 

“You did what?”

“Miss you, idiot.” Kurt squishes his chin down to kiss the top of Sebastian’s head. Sebastian’s heart does a worrisome little double-beat. God, he loves this Boy and it _does_ make him an idiot. 

It makes him stupid with thoughts of Kurt at all times of the day, missing trains and drifting off during conversations with people who are boring, because they aren’t Kurt. It makes him stupid because he’s consigning himself to be that pervert who walks his Boy around like he’s a man. Sebastian lets the thought take over, of a lifetime with Kurt, lets his heart beat like a runner tripping over hurdles. He’s ready.

Of course, the ring he bought to prove this to his snarky, sarcastic, beautiful, and difficult-to-impress bonded is back at his parent’s house in Gary. 

Sebastian lifts his head, kisses the point of Kurt’s chin. 

“I can’t sleep without you,” he confesses quietly. It feels safe to be honest here, in the shadowy, moist confines of the backseat, Kurt’s legs still wrapped around him. 

“Me either,” Kurt sighs, craning his neck forward to sweetly kiss Sebastian’s bottom lip. 

“Come back with me,” Sebastian begs. 

Kurt sighs again and lets his head fall back, his throat moving as he swallows. 

“Sebastian...don’t. You and I both know there is no place for me at your parent’s house right now.”

Sebastian does know. Maybe if Kurt was used to staying out of sight, and therefore out of mind of Sebastian’s obnoxiously curious cousins. Or maybe if his great Uncle Marcus and Aunt Andrea were there and brought their Boy too. 

“I could smuggle you into my room, sneak you lemonade and ribs,” he jokes.

“Gee, you’re really selling it. Spending time with my family versus sneaking around with you while Willy camps right outside your door. Tough choice.” 

They clean themselves up the best they can and head back to Kurt’s house, all the lights out except for one illuminating the porch. 

“Come on, I’ll set my alarm so you can skulk back home without dealing with my Dad,” Kurt says, sneaking them upstairs and into his bedroom, left untouched for his visits. 

In their fatigue one of them turns off Kurt’s phone the next morning without getting up, so Sebastian has the distinct displeasure of waking to the sight of Burt looming over Kurt’s bed. Hands on his hips, glaring at the way Kurt is still sleeping soundly, tucked into Sebastian’s side, he looks ready to sucker-punch Sebastian in the face. 

Instead he says, “Come on down, Carole has breakfast on the table. Should be enough for everyone.” And leaves, shutting the door behind him. Sebastian counts it as a win in the war of getting Burt Hummel to tolerate his existence. 

***

In a last ditch effort at romanticism before he just chucks the ring at Kurt, Sebastian makes reservations at Bouley. 

Sebastian goes through a broker to ensure an intimate booth and the table for as long as they want it. He flip-flops on giving Kurt his ring in such a public place; with Kurt, hysterics accompany both positive and negative reactions. But he figures that if anything other than drugs can sedate Kurt, it’s the most lavish French food in New York.

And so the velvet bag rides in the pocket of his jeans the entire day, a tiny companion making him distracted and snappy with people at school. And people on the train. And pretty much all people existing in his immediate space.

At 4:00pm he ditches the last half of his chemical reactivity lecture and walks from Bowery station to NYADA, makes it just as Kurt’s class starts trickling out of the practice auditorium. He counts six bohemian scarves artistically tied around various body parts before Kurt comes out, Rachel Berry in tow. 

“What! …Sebastian!” Kurt squawks, startled, clutching at Sebastian’s arms around his waist when Sebastian grabs him from behind. Sebastian smacks a kiss on Kurt’s cheek and puts him back on his booted feet but doesn’t let go.

“What are you doing here? Unhand me.” Kurt huffs in amusement, craning around to gawk at him. 

“Can’t I hang out at my neighborhood dream graveyard without being questioned? This place smells like used crest whitestrips and flop shits.” 

Kurt smacks Sebastian’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “You know, I only suffer the undermining of my education and career because I know it’s the jealousy talking. Rachel darling, were you aware that Sebastian here played Ren MacCormack in the Westerville Community Theater Company’s 2010 fall performance of Footloose?” Kurt says scathingly. 

“Uh, yes. Only because you’ve made me watch the video like, 900 times,” Rachel says, confused. 

“Rachel!” Kurt barks as Sebastian wheezes into his neck. Busted. So busted. Well, it was a landmark performance for the Company. Kurt isn’t the only one who can work a crowd. “You’re supposed to join me in a thorough mocking. Friendship terminated.”

Rachel does not look chastised at all, just purses her lips and regards Sebastian as he laughs.

“It was an above-average performance, Sebastian,” Rachel gifts him with great benevolence. “Had you applied yourself, you too might have landed a NYADA audition.” 

Sebastian stops laughing and rolls his eyes. “I know,” he tells her, eyebrows up. Rachel reels back dramatically, fingers splayed on her chest, look of disgust on her face. 

“I take it back!” 

“Okay you two, that’s enough,” Kurt sighs, plucking at Sebastian’s arms, still locked tight around him, probably wrinkling the deliciously clinging and strappy t-shirt contraption he’s wearing. “Really Sebastian, it’s a lovely surprise, but what are you doing here?”

“I’m taking you to dinner.”

Instead of the squeak of delight and demand to know where they’re going that Sebastian is expecting, Kurt goes still in his arms. Kurt glances over to Rachel, her eyes gone huge like a Japanese sex doll. 

“Don’t tell me you have other plans. I thought you were going to be home tonight,” Sebastian grouches. 

“I was...” Kurt starts, before he’s distracted by a group of people coming down the hall. 

Sebastian looks up too and sees only a gaggle of hipsteresque drama students before two of them resolve into familiar faces. Tina Cohen-Chang-Chin-Chong-Whatever. 

And Blaine fucking Anderson. In New York. At Kurt’s school. Looking just as surprised as Sebastian feels.

Kurt is now yanking at his arms, wriggling his way free. Sebastian only lets his arms be pried open because of the shock, otherwise he’s tempted to latch onto Kurt even tighter. Irrationally push Kurt behind him and hiss territorially at Blaine. 

Blaine looks good. Summer tanned, hair perfectly in place, higher in the front since the last time Sebastian saw him. Sebastian kind of wants to blind him again just for looking so delectable in Kurt’s vicinity.

Kurt steps a respectable distance away from Sebastian, brushes down his t-shirt nervously. 

“Um, we were all going to go to the Drum and Monkey for a beer and maybe something to eat,” Kurt says quickly, gesturing to the group as they approach. “You could come? Yes. You should. You should come too. Sebastian.” He is much higher pitched than usual.

“You never told me Blaine was in New York,” Sebastian says, ignoring Kurt’s offer. 

“It never came up!”

“You didn’t think it was a good idea to broach the subject that your ex-boyfriend now goes to your school?” Sebastian growls. Blaine Anderson. Here. Being hot and devilishly talented all around and maybe even on Sebastian’s bonded. 

“He’s going to Tisch, not that it matters,” Kurt mutters. Oh, even better, he’s at _Sebastian’s_ school. Sebastian tries to say so but all his throat will produce is a gargle of rage.

“Oh my god, stop that. Rachel, can you...?” Kurt tilts his head down the hall and yanks Sebastian into the now-empty practice auditorium, throwing the door closed behind them. 

The door’s slam echos through the cavernous space, the noise bouncing to the stage and back at them again. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, I probably should have mentioned it, but you get so crazy about Blaine, I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Kurt says defensively, arms crossing, chin tilting up. 

“I don’t get _crazy_ about him,” Sebastian says incredulously. “He’s hardly worth craziness.”

“Sure. There is another, more rational reason you slam doors like a three-year-old when I’m on the phone with him. And you have some other excuse for throwing apple cores at my laptop screen if his photo scrolls by on Facebook,” Kurt bitches.

“It slipped. Lucky shot.” 

“Sebastian, you need to settle down. I don’t know why you even perceive Blaine as a _threat_ ,” Kurt says, throwing up obnoxious air quotes. 

“I definitely do not perceive him as anything other than a sideshow reject for the dog-faced boy.”

“Don’t call him names. Blaine has so many reasons to hate you but he would never stoop to name-calling,” Kurt says menacingly. 

“He’s a greasy little one-trick oompa loompa with more body hair than a poodle wearing a sweater!” Sebastian spits. 

“Arrgh!” Kurt yells, throwing his arms up and looking around the empty auditorium, as though looking for people to witness what he has to put up with. “Jesus, Sebastian! Blaine is a good man and he is a part of my life whether you like it or not. Can you at least make an effort to respect that? For me?” 

“No!” Sebastian barks, his feet firmly stuck in the mud of his resentment for that radiated Chia Pet. 

“Why not!” Kurt yips back. 

“Because I don’t have to _like_ anyone else my bonded is in love with!” 

Sebastian’s shout echos through the auditorium. He wants to take the words back the second they’re out of his mouth, but they just keep echoing back at him, his voice sounding more boyish and fragile with each repetition. Might as well take off his shirt, crack his sternum open and let Kurt take a big meaty poke at his heart. Humiliating. 

He wants to go, to push out of the auditorium and out of this stupid school and into the humid New York afternoon, but Blaine Perfection Anderson is still out there and Kurt is in here, blinking up at him with big, wet eyes. 

“You think that I’m, I’m still _in love_ with him?” 

“Aren’t you?” Sebastian accuses him, hands up, palms out. When Kurt just stares at him, gnawing his lip, eyes huge and cornered-looking, Sebastian sighs short and sharp. 

He’s not surprised. Not even bothered. Who wouldn’t still be hung up on Blaine Anderson. Besides, he’s lived with whatever Kurt he can get for so long that it’s enough now. But accepting that one dumb, lust-addled decision fated Kurt to never fully trust him doesn’t make the reminder any easier to swallow. Kurt may legally be Sebastian’s, but that’s really just paperwork. Kurt owns Kurt and doles himself out as he sees fit: one reluctant sliver at a time.

“No, Sebastian, wait!” Kurt cries, Sebastian’s arm slipping through his hand as Sebastian bangs out of the auditorium with a satisfyingly obnoxious cacophony of violence. The hall is blessedly empty and Sebastian uses his long-legged advantage to stomp his way out of NYADA and the range of Kurt’s shouts. 

***

When he gets home he plugs his phone into the charger in the front hall, the three chiming tones of Kurt’s unanswered calls a darkly satisfying sound. Kurt can go right ahead and feel horrible and guilty for lying (okay, withholding information) about Blaine. Sebastian just hopes he’s out walking the streets of New York, looking suitably tragic, and not taking consolation in Blaine’s arms or something. 

Sebastian angrily changes into his running shorts, leaving his clothes strewn all over the closet floor in sweet revenge. On his way out the door he glares at his own phone, willing himself not to check it, not to listen to Kurt’s voicemails, which better be full of apology, and not justification, for still being in love with Blaine.

It isn’t until he’s at the park that he remembers that his phone has his music on it and now he has to run to his own embittered thoughts. Free to imagine Kurt perched prettily on Blaine’s lap at the Drum and Monkey. Imagine him rolling his eyes and flapping his wrist. _Oh, Sebastian just needs to get over himself. We’re bonded, not married, for god’s sake. Another crantini please; I’ll need alcohol to take it from that pouty asshole tonight!_

Sebastian sprints home; the faster he gets there, the less time he has for his undistracted imagination. The apartment is still empty so Sebastian leaves his sweaty running gear on the closet floor too for good measure. Must be a three-crantini night, then. Maybe Kurt ordered a pitcher and stuck a straw in it. _Sebastian has grand delusions about modern bonding. He loves to cuddle: isn’t that adorable? Blech, haha! What am I, his wife? That’s not in the job description. A fuck and a kiss goodnight is all I’m looking for, honey._

Sebastian watches two hours of a Storage Wars marathon in bed, the sound of the TV just loud enough to drown out the potential chime of his phone in the front entry. It isn’t until 9:00pm, when Kurt usually starts his bedtime routine, that Sebastian finally gives in. He wants to know if Kurt is alive, that’s all. He’s legally bound to ensure the safety of his Boy after all. It’s duty, nothing more. 

Kurt has called him eight times and left three voicemails. Seeing them listed is what makes Sebastian’s chest feel like it’s been hit by a gong hammer and he immediately regrets every vindictive thought. 

He can’t actually bring himself to listen to the voicemails, so he quickly texts Kurt instead. 

[9:07PM] Sebastian: _Where are you?_

[9:08PM] Kurt: _The deli_

[9:08PM] Kurt: _Can I come home now?_

[9:08PM] Sebastian: _Of course you can come home, why are you even asking?_

Kurt doesn’t reply, just creeps into the apartment five minutes later, looking positively haggard. Everything about him looks like it’s dripping away from his bones, from his hair down to the cuffs of his pants. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Have a nice evening?” Sebastian asks cruelly. 

“No,” Kurt says miserably. 

“Oh,” Sebastian says, getting the sense that maybe Kurt _didn’t_ go carousing with his ex while Sebastian moped at home. 

“Have you been at the deli all night?” he asks carefully. 

“Hussein fed me biryani. It was okay,” Kurt says, small. 

“Why didn’t you just come upstairs?”

Kurt expands and gives him a disbelieving look. 

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“Which message?”

“I was giving you some space. I told you to tell me when you were ready to talk. Sebastian, tell me you got that message.”

“Ummmm,” Sebastian starts lying. 

“Sebastian! See! This is why I hate loving you! Because you pull stupid shit like this! Let me guess, you’ve been watching TV and laughing your evil Smythe laugh whenever I called,” Kurt screeches. “I can’t believe you. No, wait, I can believe you. That’s the worst part. I can believe you would be that selfish and immature and still think you have the right to be the victim here!” 

“Wait. Stop. Back it up, harpy. Did you just say you love me?” Sebastian asks. It had to have been a slip of the tongue, but Sebastian can’t let it go. He needs to know.

“No, I said I hate to love you. But yeah, I do love you, dumbass. And I can’t believe you just tricked me into being the first one to say it,” Kurt snarls, poking Sebastian in the chest with his long, bony pointer finger. 

Kurt loves him. And he’s mad about it, so it might just be real. 

“You’re giving me a lot of credit here. You walked yourself right into that confession, fussy,” Sebastian shrugs mockingly. He feels powerful, giddy. Kurt loves him. “But guess what?”

“What, Sebastian?” 

“I love you too.” Only a hint of a tremor in his voice. It’s not hard to say, since it’s so crazily true. But it’s hard to hear himself say it out loud. Saying it out loud is like letting down the drawbridge. Kurt will have no problem riding right into Sebastian’s heart. 

Kurt’s lips slowly decompress and the glare downgrades to a fond look of annoyance. Kurt’s hand flutters up and rests, soft on the side of his neck, Kurt’s thumb brushing his cheek, his lip.

“I know,” Kurt murmurs. 

“But you love Blaine too,” Sebastian says, because if you hand him a good thing, he’s going to take it for granted as soon as it’s his. Kurt loves him. Or he thinks he does. What is love anyways? It doesn’t matter. Kurt is home and glaring at him like he just told Kurt he loves Hitler too. 

“Sebastian, look at me,” Kurt demands, grabbing Sebastian’s chin and tilting it down to meet his eyes. 

“What I feel for Blaine is not the same. It would be an insult to my capacity to love if I said I don’t still have a lot of feelings for him and that I always will...but you don’t ever have to worry about that. All you have to do is trust me, _believe me_ when I say, that against all odds, I am in love with your idiot face.” 

“You kind of _have_ to-”

Kurt jams his poking finger into Sebastian’s lips when he starts to rebuttal. “And _no_ , not because I have to. Because I don’t have to. Because you could have, but you’ve never made me a slave to you, mind or body. Because you make me happy, and more than that, you _want_ to make me happy.”

“I do,” Sebastian confirms solemnly. “I would do anything to make you happy.”

Kurt smiles, eyes on Sebastian’s mouth. “Then kiss me.” 

Sebastian does, but his effort to infuse the kiss with even a fraction of the relief and hope and thrill that is roiling inside of him is ruined when Kurt suddening snaps away.

“And also pick up your fucking phone when I call,” Kurt growls.

“If that’s what it takes, I will glue it to my ear,” Sebastian says, serious. 

Kurt’s scowl turns into a smirk, and maybe he’s feeling the same relief too. 

“Take me to bed, my love,” Kurt whispers, pressing his forehead to  
Sebastian’s and smiling sweetly in the space between their faces.

***

Sebastian wakes up feeling excited and not knowing why. A tingle in his chest, the feeling of instant wakefulness, when usually waking up is a battle against his desire to burrow further into Kurt and get more sleep. 

Sebastian rubs his face, points his toes in a stretch, and sleepily revels in this mystery agitation like a kid on Christmas morning. Rolling onto his back, he intends to ask Kurt what is special about today but Kurt’s side of the bed is empty, a tilted square of sunlight stretching across the sheets.

Remembrance washes up him like stepping into a warm bath. _Kurt._ Disgusted and exasperated, spitting confessions of love at Sebastian like javelins. Kurt under him then over him and in all his senses as they rolled around the bed without breaking, their mouths only parting to suck desperate breaths. _Kurt_. His blue, blue eyes blazing with love and with pride. Like he is proud of Sebastian, and wouldn’t want him any other way. 

Sebastian listens carefully for the sound of pancake making and hears nothing, so he goes to the closet and unearths some boxers. Kurt must have tidied up Sebastian’s pouty mess from the night before because his running gear is in the dirty laundry bin and his favorite pair of Acne jeans are hanging neatly in the clos-

Sebastian’s stomach drops in dread. He scrabbles frantically at the pockets of the jeans, his fingers digging in and hitting nothing but cotton. 

“Kurt? Kurt!” Sebastian calls out, darting out of the bedroom. As usual, Kurt has the place in perfect company-calling order, not a single throw-pillow out of position. 

Scanning the kitchen for a note, Sebastian catches a flash of white out on the balcony. He finds Kurt sitting cross-legged in one of their patio chairs, dressed uncharacteristically simply in one of Sebastian’s white t-shirts and some distressed jeans. 

He looks enchantingly young and innocent and also...perplexed. The little velvet Cartier bag is dropped between his legs and he’s frowning down at his thumbs, both adorned in simple platinum bands. 

It had been a long time since Sebastian had appalled his personal Cartier shopper by abandoning the selection of bonded rings and moving to a display of wedding bands. 

Unlike the bonded rings, he had spotted the perfect ring on his first scan of the case. Not too thick, not too delicate, just the perfect balance of luster and weight. Clean and sleek and flawless, like Kurt stepping out of the shower, his skin luminous. He’d asked for two and his personal shopper had quickly covered up her grimace of distaste. 

He had kept both rings in the little bag after buying them, some small irrational superstition keeping him from taking them out and fondling them. So he is glad to see that the fit is good; he and Kurt both have long hands with wide thumbs and the unembellished rings are a simple elegance nestled just below Kurt’s knuckles.

“You found them,” Sebastian says and Kurt jumps, looking up, fists closing around his thumbs in fright before relaxing again. He gives Sebastian a closed-mouth, wry smile.

“Hmmm, yes. Finally.”

“Finally?” Sebastian repeats, surprised. 

“Rachel spilled about your disastrous shopping trip months ago.”

Of course she did. Stupid self-involved little psychopath. Sebastian blows a sigh and carefully lowers himself to his knees in front of Kurt, the wooden slats unyeilding. Kurt watches him, alert and curious. 

“I should have known better than to ask for her help. Of which she was none, by the way.”

Kurt smirks, using his forefingers to fidget and twist the rings on each thumb. His smirk changes to something more speculative, and then, a very laborious attempt at a genuine smile. 

Kurt lifts his thumbs up between them. “This is...pretty old school. Two rings. I like it though.” He stalls out and then shakes his head, leaning forward to drop a quick, chaste kiss on Sebastian’s mouth. “Actually, I saw Christopher Nolan’s Boy with shackle rings on Just Jared the other day, so I am impressed; you may be putting me ahead of the fashion curve, Sebastian Smythe.”

Sebastian rears back, shocked. A plunging guilt stabs him in the belly. Of course that’s the conclusion Kurt would come to. Finding two rings, he would automatically assume they were both for him to wear, claimed and marked with no question as to his purpose and worth. 

Sebastian wants to shake Kurt for accepting such a despicable and arrogant gift. For thinking that Sebastian would want to march him around like a Viking conquest, both hands ringed with Sebastian’s dominance over him. 

Where is his strong, willful, independent Kurt? The one who would have flicked the rings back at Sebastian like bottle caps. Who would have sneered and waggled his finger in Sebastian’s face and lectured him on equal rights for all humans of all genders.

He hates to think that he’s not getting thumbs jabbed in his eyes because maybe Kurt loves Sebastian more than Kurt loves his own principles. That is something he could never live up to.

“No!” Sebastian says quickly, and snatches up Kurt’s left hand, twisting the ring off his thumb. 

“Hey, ow, Sebastian,” Kurt snaps, confused. 

Sebastian pushes the ring on his own thumb, constricting over his knuckle but cool and light where it comes to rest. 

“No, look, there’s one for each of us,” he explains with a complete lack of eloquence. This is not how he wanted the big reveal to go. 

Kurt’s eyes go wide and they dart from Sebastian’s hand to his own, again and again. 

“Sebastian, you’re crazy. What are you doing?”

“I’m marking my bonded. If I can’t marry your ass, I’m not letting it walk around unclaimed.” 

“Okay, fine. Great. But you can’t wear a ring too, that’s insane!” Kurt squeaks, panicked. 

Sebastian grabs Kurt’s arm out of the air where it’s waving around in horror and links their right hands, clicking the rings together where their thumbs meet. It’s a tiny clink of a sound, but it might as well be a heralding trumpet the way it makes Sebastian’s chest thump in anticipation. 

“Yeah, well, your ass is mine, but my ass is yours too, and I don’t care who knows it. No...I _do_ care who knows it. I want _everyone_ to know it.”

Kurt levels him with a disbelieving look. 

“Even your Dad?”

To be honest, the thought of letting his father see Sebastian’s hand sporting a wedding ring on his fucking thumb is terrifying. To say it wasn’t a factor in his hesitation to present the rings would be a lie. But now that the rings are on - Kurt’s gleaming richly on his soft, manicured hand, Sebastian’s looking small and neat on his long thumb - it doesn’t matter. 

Absolute worst case scenario, his father could disown him. It would be heartbreaking, but a choice that Sebastian no longer has any control over. It’s easier now, to accept that, since he knows that the ring is never coming off again. Well, metaphorically. He is going into the medical profession after all. He doesn’t want to sew the representational object of his devotion to Kurt into a chest cavity or something. 

“Especially my Dad. Thanks for bringing that up. Way to ruin a special moment, fussy.”

Kurt’s mouth opens and closes like a guppy. If Kurt doesn’t take him seriously, Sebastian doesn’t know what he’ll do. Drag his bonded out into the street and start shoving his hand in their faces? _See! See how amazing this Boy is?!_ Maybe fly them out to Ohio tonight, horrify his parents with a surprise visit. Then get back on the plane and go to Washington to defend the rings to Burt while they’re at it. Though, Congressman Hummel might actually like the idea. Sebastian isn’t going to get his hopes up; Burt isn’t fond of anything Sebastian is involved in. 

He’s about to suggest they hit the street right now when Kurt slips to his knees too and rewards him with sweet earnestness.

“You’re such an idiot. This could get you into so much trouble, you know that right?”

“Worth it,” Sebastian shrugs. And it is. Kurt’s hand trembling in his, happy tears making Kurt’s eyes limpid with gratitude and genuine affection. If he can make Kurt look like that everyday, Sebastian’s own happiness is a given. 

“Okay,” Kurt says, breathing deeply. He untangles their hands to dab under his eyes, and his ring flashes in the early morning sun. “Okay. I can’t believe how much I love you right now.”

Sebastian presses his hands into the hollow of Kurt’s back and he can feel his own ring there, solid on his thumb. He pulls them together so that Kurt’s t-shirt clad tummy is pressed into his own bare stomach and kisses Kurt carefully. 

“Enough to make me breakfast?” his smiles against Kurt’s mouth. 

Kurt groans dramatically and flicks Sebastian’s collarbone. 

“So that’s the end of the most romantic moment of my life then?” Kurt grouses, rolling every facial feature he owns. “Back to business as usual in where your stomach is the true owner of my bond?” 

Sebastian tilts his head down, as though listening to his stomach. “The boss says pancakes. And bacon. And apricot syrup. And less whining.” 

Kurt chuckles and dips his head to kiss the spot he flicked. Sebastian hauls him in tighter, so infused with love for his bonded that he almost makes a strangled sound, his excitement literally leaking out of him.

“As it so happens, I also love your stomach, so breakfast it is,” Kurt concedes, his voice soft and just for Sebastian, music in the oasis of their tiny balcony in the middle of New York City. 

“We love you too,” Sebastian murmurs, and lets Kurt pull him back into the apartment, their right hands clasped.


	11. Epilogue

In the end it’s Willy who keeps Sebastian from getting cut off. Which Sebastian had assured Kurt would never happen. 

“My Dad is going to be pissed, sure, but he wouldn’t make it look worse by frigging disowning me. Besides, I have a trust fund that starts paying out in a year and a half. We’ll be fine,” Sebastian had dismissed Kurt’s spoken worries like Kurt was being unreasonable. Like Hugh Smythe wasn’t going to take one look at his beloved son’s hand and start spewing pea soup. 

“I’m not worried about the money, Sebastian. I’ll cover the bills while you’re in school -” Kurt ignored Sebastian’s eye-roll and sarcastic mutter of _with the power of song and dance_ “- I’m much more concerned about you being estranged from your family.”

Sebastian had just stuck his hand up Kurt’s shirt and told him, “Stop being fussy, fussy. Now come here.”

But Kurt could tell he was growing more nervous as Thanksgiving approached. Aside from Sebastian’s usual nervous ticks - loss of appetite, chewing pens with his beaver teeth, brooming the ceiling of their apartment if the upstairs neighbors so much as dropped a coin - he was a fucking-machine.

He wanted to do it so much that he even eclipsed Kurt’s ever-present low-level horniness, no small achievement. Trying to talk to him about it, to get him to discuss his fears in a healthy, productive way, only got Kurt a defensive and angry Sebastian who _still_ wanted to fuck. 

_“Kurt,” Sebastian cried in exasperation, looking down at Kurt, kneeling between his legs. His eyes were slits, his narrow jaw bulging as he ground his teeth. “You can either suck my cock or talk about my father. You can never do both at once, for the love of god.”_

Coming to terms with it or not, they were always fated to be sitting here, knee to knee on a white loveseat in the Smythe’s richly decorated formal living room, under interrogation from State Attorney Hugh Smythe.

Kurt keeps his mouth shut. It isn’t because he trusts Sebastian to calmly argue his actions with solid and rational arguments. The only language Sebastian speaks under duress is sarcasm. Combine that with his love of toeing the rebellion line, and they never had a hope of coming out of this in the Smythe’s good graces. 

No, Kurt keeps quiet because he knows that no matter what he says, Mr. Smythe will treat his words like they are coming from a sex toy: worthless. So it’s 100% up to Sebastian to defend his decision to mark himself with a bonding ring and also defend Kurt’s agency within their tiny family of two. So basically, Kurt is fated to being an evil seductress until Sebastian dies and Mr. Smythe can rip the ring from his body. 

Kurt is pretty sure that this hell of Mr. Smythe’s seething rage, Mrs. Smythe’s quiet weeping, and the rest of Sebastian’s extended family listening from the kitchen, will never end. He will rot here, hand aching from Sebastian’s brutal grip, resisting the urge to rub Sebastian’s back, shush and kiss him into relaxing.

So it’s a relief when Willy comes striding in on his little legs to stand beside Kurt’s other knee. His collar is popped and he’s changed into black denim jeans since they arrived, just like the ones his big brother is wearing. 

All Kurt wants is a distraction, but his little Willy surprises him.

“Dad, don’t be mad at Bastian. Kurt is the best.” 

“William, this is not the time,” Mr. Smythe says severely. “Go outside until dinner.” Mr. Smythe’s tone leaves no room for negotiation. Even Kurt feels compelled to go outside, as if he wasn’t dying to already. 

“Not until you start being nice to Kurt,” Willy says, and starts pacing like a little lawyer in between the loveseat and where Mr. Smythe is seated in a huge wing-back chair, like some sort of patriarchal throne.

“William, that’s enough! Go outside,” Mr. Smythe orders, looking surprised at being so blatantly disobeyed.

Willy continues his pacing, thumping his little fist into his hand. “No, Dad. Kurt is awesome and I am glad that Bastian loves him. That’s all that matters, even if Bastian’s ring looks dumb.” Willy turns to Sebastian and puts a hand on his hip. “Bastian, that ring is gay.”

Kurt uses every single muscle in his body to stop himself from laughing. 

“Don’t say ‘gay’, Willy,” Sebastian returns with a sigh. “Also, thanks _so_ much for your support, but Dad asked you to go outside, so please go, alright?”

Willy dismisses Sebastian’s plea with the same unimpressed smirk Kurt’s seen Sebastian give a thousand times. It’s remarkably endearing.

“William, outside. I’m not going to ask you again,” Mr. Smythe says quietly, and Kurt will herd Willy out himself to avoid the consequences Mr. Smythe’s tone implies. 

“Fine, fine,” Willy says, a trickle of fear finally leaking into his miniature courtroom bravado. Still, he stops beside Kurt again and puts his little hand on Kurt’s knee. “Dad, I know you love Mom. Maybe Bastian loves Kurt the same way.” With that little nugget of innocent wisdom, he scampers out of the living room.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mr. Smythe swears once Willy is out of ear-shot. 

“Hugh!” Mrs. Smythe gasps in shock, and Sebastian’s jaw drops, his hand clutching Kurt’s going limp. 

“Whoa, Dad,” Sebastian says, frightened and obviously not used to that kind of language from his stoic, church-attending father. 

“I’ve had just about enough of this. Sebastian, if you insist on degrading this family by making a mockery of strong American family values, it had better be because you’re so in love you don’t know any better.” 

Mr. Smythe nearly gives Kurt a heart-attack when he turns his narrow, angry gaze on him. 

“Kurt, would you say that’s accurate?”

Kurt realises he’s been shocked silent when Sebastian gives him a frantic nudge with his elbow. Kurt looks up at Sebastian, his face a picture of terrified yearning, blanched white under his beauty marks. A face Kurt loves even more than his own.

“Yes,” Kurt says, making his voice carry high and loud. “This is the real deal, Mr. Smythe.”


	12. AU Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This world got kind of carried away, so here is a collection of the history of bonding, the place of Boys within society, and also some banter I had with an anon in the Glee Kink Meme while the story was WIP.

We'll get back to bedroom shenanigans in a minute! But first, here is a quick breakdown of what’s going on in my head when I refer to Kurt and Sebastian being ‘bonded’. Basically, Coalesce takes place in an alternate universe where there is a third recognized gender assignment – men with female genetalia. (Typically called ‘boys’ even well into manhood.)  
  
These men are considered a subclass, similar to the way women were treated as a subclass for most of history. They are physiologically effeminate and the basis for the homosexual ‘queen’ stereotype. By this I mean many homosexual men (with male genitalia) seek to emulate this male subclass. In this universe, they aren’t adopting the traits of women; they are adopting the traits of ‘boys’. (For example, Kurt’s high voice, his striking features, his clear skin and minimal facial hair.)  
  
These men have been treated like slaves for most of history. In fact, they only have the right to vote if they are bonded. And by bonded I mean owned by another person. Typically a man, but within the last hundred years women also won the right to own them.  
  
They are strictly regulated due to the same reason they are so desirable: their heightened libidos. Unbonded, a boy will pretty much go on a sex bender. This endangers both them and other people because of the spread of disease. But if they copulate exclusively with one person or a small group of people, they will imprint on that person. This is why Kurt loves the smell of Sebastian – Kurt’s body is telling him that Sebastian is safety and home.  
  
From birth they are treated like a commodity. It’s difficult to breed a boy, sort of like twins. It might run in the family, but there is no hard genetic formula. If a family gives birth to one, the boy isn’t treated like other children and a lack of education for the male subclass is a big hurdle in the fight for their liberation. Most families wouldn’t risk letting their boy out of the house: it would be like sending a bag of cash to school unsupervised. There is such a division between the male subclass and other children that if a family chooses to keep a boy instead of selling him (they usually get sold around 11 or 12) the family will use the boy as a sex slave and it would never be questioned or considered incest.  
  
Burt had other ideas, obviously, and is a strong supporter of male subclass rights. He wanted to give Kurt all the rights and freedoms as any other kid and encouraged him to take on the identity of flamboyantly gay (not a stretch) to hide an even more damning truth. So Kurt had a tough childhood and high school experience but at least he got one. Burt never planned to sell Kurt, just wanted him to lead a normal life. He would let Kurt find love and someone who appreciates him for who he is, and then hand over the bonding rights for legal purposes.  
  
Understandably, he was super pissed when he found out about Kurt and Sebastian. He had been really hoping that Blaine would be the one to meet his expectations for Kurt’s bonded, but Kurt’s hormones got the best of him and at least sexually, Kurt is a sucker for being dominated. While he loved Blaine dearly, deep down, Kurt was skeptical that Blaine could ever meet his needs. This was not his train of thought at the time, just his body’s realization. In the aftermath of him and Sebastian having sex for the first time Kurt was absolutely devastated. It was a really bad time for Kurt, and Blaine too.

When Burt “sold” Kurt to Sebastian, he did name a price: the cost of Kurt’s education and a bond-long spending stipend that goes directly to Kurt so that Kurt could ostensibly support himself if things were bad. Sebastian’s parents were a little perturbed, but they could afford it AND it actually worked in their favour. Socially, they gained standing by providing their son with a boy, but it didn’t negatively affect Sebastian’s father being a public servant.  
  
In the past, it was almost impossible to break a bond. The man who took the boy’s virginity would be imprinted on and separating them and trying to bond the boy to someone else typically ended in the boy falling into a deep depression and dying as a result. (Malnutrition, suicide, broken heart, etc) Studies performed (that started as inhumane experiments at the turn of the century) show that there is a chemical component to the bond, and it is what makes boys so attractive to everyone – the boys are walking pheromone factories. Now a days, there are medical treatments and regimens that can aid the breaking of a bond, hence the offers Sebastian receives for ownership of Kurt.   
  
In the case of Sebastian and Kurt, this chemical attraction is especially potent. Due to Kurt’s heart belonging to Blaine and Sebastian’s inherent selfishness and dickbagery, they are slowly, SLOWLY building their emotional relationship (as evidenced in the story) but their physical compatibility was immediate and absolute. This is why they can’t sleep without being in the same bed, bang constantly and feel knee-jerk reactions when the other is in trouble, but otherwise, live separate lives.  
  
Sebastian never really feels the urge to stray – why would he? His grass is so green it hurts the eyes. However, he is still a terrible flirt and can appreciate the male form without letting it interfere with his commitment to Kurt. But if he was directly offered sex he’d turn it down, just like you would turn down a turkey sandwich if you had a seven-course gourmet meal on the table for you at home.  
  
New York is the ideal place for Kurt. Anywhere else and a boy going to school or having a real job would be super rare and cause for outrage. But in NYC there are many enlightened bond-holders who don’t think that their bondeds should have to miss out on opportunity and life. Sebastian definitely falls into this camp. He would never treat Kurt like property, even if he is aware of his right to. It just wouldn’t make sense to him, like discriminating due to race or sexual orientation.  
  
Lastly, I should mention that men like Kurt are usually sterile; only 1 in 20 are able to carry a child to term and that child is always also a male subclass. So, the chance is there, even if Kurt thinks it’s too minute to warrant using protection, AHEM.  
  
Thank you thank you thank you for all the kind feedback! Who wants to go get Kurtbastian tats with me?

 

**From Anon: Do bonded boys have some way to show that they're bonded? Like maybe some sort of charm, necklace, bracelet, collar, etc? this is a huge kink of mine**

Funny you should ask about a token; this is actually going to be addressed (in a way) in the next couple of parts. For now I can tell you:  
  
In the past, when there were fewer Boys and they were only owned by the extremely rich, the extremely well-connected, and royalty, they were more decorated and paraded. Jeweled collars, shackles, gold chains: it was pretty gaudy.  
  
During the Renaissance it was more common for a Boy to be recognized by a simple, thin gold or silver coronet. Boys are featured heavily in paintings and sculptures of that age, which makes sense since they are naturally beautiful and angelic.  
  
As the modern age progressed, the trend of gold or silver plated cuffs became popular. These worked both to restrain and to identify them. These heavy cuffs morphed into the trend of bracelets, which morphed into thumbrings, which morphed into just a single thumbring worn on the right hand.  
  
Which is the ring that Kurt references in Part…something, I can’t remember. But they are arguing outside their apartment building and Kurt accuses Sebastian of being unaffectionate and of making Kurt appear undervalued because Sebastian never gave him a ring.  
  
Truthfully, Kurt revels in the fact he can slip by unnoticed in awkward situations by not being marked. He wants to be Kurt first, not a Boy first. But it still pisses him off that Sebastian is so inconsiderate. Other Boys he knows in the industry are doted on and spoiled and have gorgeous expensive jeweled rings. He never wants to be treated like a pet, but it would be nice if Sebastian surprised him once in a while. His expectations for Sebastian: low and realistic. But Sebastian is exceeding his expectations more and more, so they’re getting there.  
  
Sorry, I have the exact same kink, and I know I am letting down the team, but man, my headcanon is resolutely  _Sebastian is the douchiest of bags with a well-hidden heart of tarnished gold_  and I can’t deviate.

 

**From Anon: I just had one question about this universe because it is seriously so interesting and I want to know more about it! So are the only people who bond in this world boys and their bond-holders? Or do all people bond and a bond with a boy is just especially special? I only ask because when Kurt told that guy who was flirting with him that he was bonded, the guy didn't seem taken aback that Kurt was a boy, just that he was bonded. Did he already know Kurt was a boy?**

Thanks for the kind words and interest, anon! You’ve made me all thinky, I lurve it.   
  
 _So are the only people who bond in this world boys and their bond-holders? Or do all people bond and a bond with a boy is just especially special?_  
  
In my head, the only people who bond are boys and their bond-holders. This is going to sound so crass but the bond is based on the chemicals that boys produce in their vaginal secretions. Addictive pussy nectar, if you will. In turn, the boy adapts to the bodily fluids of their bond-holder, ultimately resulting in the boy being just as addicted.   
  
So, the rest of the world in still falling in love with other normal people and experiencing the same chemical imbalances and shifts of testosterone and endorphins and dopamine. But between a boy and their bond-holder the connection is very base and uncomplicated: almost purely physical. Which is why boys are revered and valued as sex slaves and seldom treated as equals. They are thought of as irrational, simple, and incapable of service outside of the physical. In film and literature the emotional component of bonding is grossly romanticised, but for most bond-holders, it’s more like the affection you feel for a loyal dog. Lots of love, but that dog will never be your equal.   
  
Kurt is a great example of what would happen if you treated a boy like any other kid: they would grow up to be independent, capable, hard-working citizens, albeit with a larger-than-normal sexual appetite. In large metropolitan areas like NYC, LA, Chicago, etc, these unfettered boys (still bonded, but to reasonable people like Sebastian, who grew up in Chicago) are not uncommon, and their independence is respected.   
  
So:  
  
 _I only ask because when Kurt told that guy who was flirting with him that he was bonded, the guy didn't seem taken aback that Kurt was a boy, just that he was bonded. Did he already know Kurt was a boy?_  
  
No, Jeremy (the guy in the bar) did not know that Kurt was a boy. This is partly because Kurt grew up as a “normal” kid and doesn’t really think of himself as anything else (thanks Burt Hummel for instilling enviable confidence and self-worth into that star) so he doesn’t advertise it.   
  
He wasn’t taken aback because boys in the entertainment industry are very common (ESPECIALLY in the porn industry) and because a lot of gay men try to pass as boys. Finding out that he actually IS a boy could result in two possible reactions:  
  
1\. Disgust that a boy was accepted into a school for normal people and that boy has the audacity to socialize like a normal man. Jeremy did NOT feel this because he’s pretty cosmopolitan, a gay man himself (a group who admire and envy boys), and not a Republican.   
  
OR  
  
2\. The immediate downgrading of Kurt’s worth to primarily sex slavery. Of this, Jeremy is guilty. I tried to represent this with Jeremy’s immediate switch from friendly conversation to a proposition that they ‘get out of there’. In my mind that is extremely rude and disrespectful to Kurt? He finds out that Kurt is a boy and now it’s straight to the sex timez? To be fair, if anyone else was in that bar with their bonded boy in tow, that’s what they’d be looking for. Going out with your bonded is a sure way to pick-up because who doesn’t want to get some o’ that?   
  
You kind of busted me on this one; I wrote that part before I sat down and thoroughly fleshed out my brain farts about this universe. In hindsight, I should have lingered on that scene and Sebastian’s reaction, which wasn’t jealousy or possessiveness, just anger. Also, Kurt probably should have stood up for himself better, but as mentioned, he is the star of his NYADA graduating class and trumping Jeremy for roles is the best revenge.   
  
I hope this answers your question. Thanks again for taking the time to comment! In case it wasn’t obvious, all I want to do is talk about this universe, so you totally made my day. :D

 

**From Anon: although, can i just say, kurt in this verse is so mean. i mean, i know sebastian is a little shit, don't get me wrong, but in my mind kurt gets to treat sebastian just as bad OR take the moral high ground, not both. and while i get that it's scary to be so completely dependent on another person, that's the reality. so this whole "treating sebastian like he's dirty" thing just pisses me off. it's mean, and cold.**

Hey, thanks to everyone who is defending Kurt's love of hygiene, but I feel like I should clear this up so no one is left with a bad taste in their mouth:  
  
He's only worried about the duvet cover. It's really expensive and usually they have the good sense to turn back the sheets (which are easier to clean) but they got too excited and didn't even make it all the way into bed. As will happen when you are crazy about each other.   
  
I'm kind of sad that you are taking away a meanness and coldness in Kurt, but I understand that the power dynamic can be interpreted in any number of ways. This is still excellent feedback and I sincerely appreciate your time, honesty, and kind words. Thank you so much for reading!

 

**From Anon: what about the blowjob? and that whole "goodnight sebastian's hand" exchange? and when sebastian offers to strip the bed kurt's all "that's right you owe me" as if it's sebastian's fault that kurt is a boy in the first place. because, the way you have set up the verse, kurt was always going to be bonded to someone. sebastian just happens to be that man. but kurt doesn't act that way.  
  
i mean, it seems to me like sebastian has to fight for every single ounce of sexual (and other) reciprocity, because kurt just refuses to be either gracious or generous.   
  
i love your writing, don't get me wrong, it's absolutely fabulous and I love reading it and just...yeah. it's fantastic. but i just keep seeing all of these little conflicts, and I don't understand why you're putting them in there if not to get the point across that kurt resents/is scared of sebastian, the whole situation, and kurt's "lot in life" as a boy, and is taking it out on sebastian. the problem being that "taking it out on sebastian" a)makes for a not very healthy or successful relationship, and b)makes him at least as much of an asshole as he accuses sebastian of being.**

Sincerely: this is really insightful and interesting. Thanks much for taking the time to comment!   
  
I’m not going on the defensive, because the story is what it is. But since you’re engaging me on this, and I loooooove talking about it, I will explain what I wanted (haha, and failed) to communicate in these exchanges.   
  
 _that whole "goodnight sebastian's hand" exchange_  
  
This was not a strategic move on Kurt’s part, or punishment. It was just snark in response to being  _summoned_  by Sebastian. At this point in their relationship, Sebastian is being a dick on purpose. If they were a normal couple, Sebastian’s text would have been sexy in its dominance, and Kurt would probably have responded differently. But it wasn’t a sexy text and did not warrant anything other than dismissal from Kurt, which is what he gave. Sebastian later argues that whenever Kurt summons  _him_ , he comes running. Let me assure you, though none have been included in the story, Kurt’s texts always include a ‘please’.   
  
 _what about the blowjob?_  
  
First I should explain that Burt Hummel raised Kurt to love and respect himself for who he is. He was never raised to be a slave, and never planned to be with someone like Sebastian, who orbits through 1%er circles where treating a Boy like a human is ludicrous. He also never planned to bond with Sebastian himself, who only locked that shit down because he took Kurt’s virginity and the bond developed during the tsunami of crazy hate sex they had following the somnophilia.   
  
So, while they got used to each other in their first year of college, sex was about each of them satisfying their own personal physical needs. Fortunately for Kurt, Sebastian’s personal physical need was to drink from his carpet cup. (The bond is chemical more than emotional.)   
  
When they do finally start growing on each other, they sort of re-entered the relationship at the starting line. That was Kurt’s  _first_  blowjob. What I was going for is: what would happen if you took Sebastian, who is terminally insensitive, and Kurt, who is completely comfortable with Sebastian and isn’t going to try and make it easy for him, and put them to blowjob task. I thought it was cute? Let me point out that when Kurt threatened to bite it off the next time Sebastian was like, WHATEVER. HEARD THAT BEFORE. Let’s all keep in mind how good-looking Sebastian is. Kurt will be back for more once he thinks enough time has passed for Sebastian to forget his threat. Sebastian will say NOTHING because he’s not going to compromise the chance to get his dick sucked.  
  
 _when sebastian offers to strip the bed kurt's all "that's right you owe me" as if it's sebastian's fault that kurt is a boy in the first place_  
  
Man, see, I thought this was a good demonstration of just how healthy and successful their relationship is, even around Sebastian’s family. Kurt doesn’t resent the fact he’s a Boy, he only resents other people’s misconceptions about Boys, and he actually counts himself really lucky that he ended up with Sebastian, despite his conservative parents.   
  
Even if they were a normal couple, the playful ‘owing’ would still apply. Say it was Thanksgiving and Sebastian got to go to a football game with other family members, and it was assumed that Kurt wouldn’t want to go because he doesn’t like sports. So he got stuck watching the kids back at home - they would have the same exchange. Sebastian, even though it’s no fault of his, would still owe Kurt for getting to have a good time while Kurt had to suffer. It’s something that couples do? In fact, it’s something borrowed directly from my own relationships.   
  
I guess where I failed was not making this scene playful enough. What Sebastian ‘owes’ him is not that big of a deal: changing the linens, which they share responsibility for anyways; tidying up their apartment after Kurt has been doing it all weekend, again, a shared responsibility; and taking Kurt out on a date, which he loves doing anyways. Hell, Sebastian loves theatre too.   
  
So yeah. I’m really sorry you see these instances as conflicts, because I honestly wanted to convey them as representations of how Kurt and Sebastian are making implausible love work.   
  
Thank you again for such a thorough comment, and for the compliments too!  



End file.
